When Shadows and Darkness Descend
by Feisty.Green.Snake
Summary: Continued from 'A Light...,' The Shadows now have a hold upon the King's son; they have ended their deal with the Pirate King; and their influence is growing in Albion's domain. As Darius builds up an Alliance against this oncoming attack in a year by the Shadows and Darkness, he cannot help but feel that some other force is out there. Fable III: Prince/Reaver.
1. The Lines Between Friend and Foe

**Warnings**: Please be aware that this fan-fiction will contain profanities, sexual content, many bloody battles, some character deaths (although no one that the Fables series hadn't already killed off!), and an overly obsessive usage of semi-colons and 'big' words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fable series. This piece of fiction is being written for merely entertainment purposes.

Rated: **M!**

A/N: Ladies and gents, here's the continuation to the last fanfic Can be read without having read the other one, and I dare say this fanfic shall also be more deliciously narrated. There are more surprising events now, but I shan't give anything away. Slightly edited due to mistakes in sentences upon first inspection, but nothing in the plotline has changed. Enjoy…

_Summary:__ The Shadows have a hold upon the King's son; they have ended their deal with the Pirate King; and their influence is growing within Albion's domain. As Darius builds up an Alliance against this oncoming attack in a year by the Shadows and Darkness, he cannot help but feel that some other force is out there. However, can the King even trust his companions in his time of need? __Fable III: Reaver/Prince._

**_When Shadows and Darkness Descend_**

**Chapter One: The Lines Between Friend and Foe**

"The Court of Albion is now in session," announced Walter, his voice resonating across the throne room. "All citizens of Albion shall abide by the decisions of the new King from this day forth."

Sat on the throne, Darius resisted the urge to snort. Despite how his citizens were standing behind barriers of ribbons and swarms of guards surrounded them, by the vengeful looks being thrown in Logan's direction, the King knew that anything exempting Reaver's death would cause discrepancy. It would likely even lead to riot or two.

The decision that he was about to make – here and now on the throne – would not only affect his future image as King, but also the attitude of his people towards him. After all, he had to wonder if they would truly support a King who could murder his own brother?

"Logan, former King of Albion, you stand accused today of crimes against the kingdom and its people. Those who have brought you to justice will now speak," said Walter.

"There isn't a man or woman alive in the kingdom who has not suffered for his glory, and we have plenty who've died for it," said Sabine, stepping forward to stand beside Darius. "I say we let him have some death of his own!"

"Look, I'm not one for lopping people's heads off," continued Ben Finn, his bruised hands mimicking the slicing of his neck, "but we saw Major Swift executed, like it was a bloody circus act! And Logan deserves nothing less as far as I'm concerned."

"But aren't we better than that? Isn't that why we fought?" Page stared directly at Ben. She seemed disappointed in him, and the soldier returned to his former position. "I've seen what Logan has done to this city. People starving to death, children forced to work…but killing him now won't solve anything."

Kalin stepped forward from her place beside Sabine. The battle had taken its toil; many of her ships had been burned and she seemed quieter now. Although her dogged, battered expression could also have been from seeing Logan again for the first time in years.

"It is not my place to decide the former King of Albion's fate," she voiced sincerely. "But his betrayal condemned many of my people to death. He promised us salvation and left us to face the darkness – alone," she finished icily.

"I had good reason to break that promise." Logan's eyes had settled on her. "And I had good reason for the crimes you claim I committed. The day I returned to Albion, I received a visit from a blind seer. Theresa, our mother's guide."

Darius leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands together.

"Continue," he urged.

"She showed me the future of this kingdom: the darkness in Aurora is coming here, bringing death, destruction, the end of our way of life. The sacrifices that I had to make, I did them to protect Albion. If a few had to suffer, it was to build an Army. If a few had to die, it was to save a country."

Logan shook his head before returning his gaze onto Darius, "…I have spent years preparing for this attack. Let me stand by your side now and all my soldiers will be yours to command. Let us face the coming darkness together…brother."

"If this is true…" murmured Walter, "…if it really is coming here, we're all in grave danger."

"You have grown much since I last saw you, brother – no longer are you a child. But now you have the power of life and death," said Logan. "And so you must choose."

"Your brother's fate is in your hands, Your Majesty," concurred Walter, although not without sympathy in his tone. Even he knew the former King would not lie.

Darius groaned. He placed a hand to his forehead, blocking out the gazes of his citizens if for only a moment. He calculated the likelihood of Albion surviving the attack without Logan's aid; thought if he truly could send his brother to death, and knew that he easily could; and, as he looked back up, he imagined his citizens' reactions.

"It is a difficult decision, Your Majesty," he dimly heard Page say, "…but I ask you to think of Albion. Would we benefit from more death?"

Sabine snorted coldly to Darius' left. "Benefit? Aye, we'd finally gain our revenge against a tyrant, that would be beneficial to our morale."

"The Court shall respectfully rest," scorned Walter, in his old military voice. "This is His Majesty's decision."

"I have finished my verdict," announced Darius, making to stand, "…and I have decided that this is not the time for revenge." He stepped down towards Logan, whose surprise hitched the hole in Darius' heart. "Logan, if the darkness is truly coming here, we shall be in need of your assistance."

"Restrictions shall be placed on your livelihood, which will be addressed in private, and you shall never be permitted to assume the role as King of Albion again," added Darius formally. "In time, you may attain independence from the Crown, but know that while your actions may be forgiven, they cannot be forgotten."

A citizen booed behind the barriers. Darius ignored them; his gaze remained unwaveringly on Logan, who inclined his head in resignation.

"You shall have everything that is at my disposal…brother."

"The King has made his decision. Logan's life shall be spared," called Walter. "The Court is at an end."

People were grumbling as they exited the room. The sight of so many sneers cast in Logan's direction was daunting, but Darius had made his decision. He could only hope, as the last citizen trailed out of the throne room, that its consequences would not be so dire.

As the throne room's doors closed, an aggravating sigh was heard from behind. He turned to see Sabine's eyes glancing between Logan and himself.

"Just know that, while the dwellers and I will stand by your decision, I shan't be fighting any darkness beside 'im," motioned Sabine towards Logan.

Ben groaned as he walking down the steps to stand beside Darius.

"You do know, mate," Ben added, "…that choosing not to lop off Logan's head will come back to bite us in the –"

"Language, Ben!" barked Page. "The King has made his decision, and as much as I despise Logan –" she shot him a venomous look to boot "– it was the right choice not to kill him."

"Ah yes, I'm sure Darius would love to be remembered as a _loving_ King who never so much as whacked a fly," muttered Ben stubbornly.

"I'll whack you in a minute if you keep up that arrogance," she threatened.

"Just admit it, Page," snickered Ben, "you only use violence to get close to me."

Darius groaned.

Logan huffed, and glanced down at his younger brother. "Well, I do not see how you could have ever taken this castle with all this quarrelling to listen to."

Ben had apparently forgotten his presence for a mere moment, but as his light eyes settled on Logan once more, it was obvious he was grinding his teeth.

"Listen, Logan, I hope you have someone watching your back –"

Time stopped, and as Darius observed past Ben, he spotted the familiar sight of a grey portal swirling into appearance in front of the throne.

He heard a disdainful sniff from beside him – only to see that Logan was still moving. He had a hand on his chin and was evidently breathing still.

"Theresa's powers don't affect you?" he questioned, frowning.

"It would appear not," replied Logan idly, stepping around Ben to face it. "But - this is her doing, then, is it? I've never seen such a thing happen –"

"It's a portal that transports you to a mystical Road," said Darius, making to move up the steps, "and no one I know has been able to see this portal, much less move once Theresa's spell stops time."

"As it should be," came the echoing of Theresa. She stepped through the portal, and Logan retreated back, scowling.

"Theresa," he hissed under his breath, "you haven't changed one bit, it would seem."

"Whereas you have a great deal, Logan, but I think it has been for the better," she replied idly, before seeking out Darius. "You have completed yet another step on the road. You were little more than a child when you left the castle, and now, you have become a leader, a true Hero, and a monarch. But your journey is not yet done…"

Darius' vision swirled, and he bent down to his knees as his mind clouded with images. He saw Logan's face – concerned and shouting at Theresa – before his vision blacked out and a map of Albion replaced it.

"Albion will soon be attacked, and the threat could not be greater," Theresa echoed.

Aurora was first clouded by darkness, and then it spread across the sea towards Albion, where another force – one more clouded in mists – was evidently growing in Wraithmarsh. The two forces clashed and spilled, leaving tides of destruction over the land. The map retreated from his mind before the land could be covered, and Darius stood up, hazy on his feet.

"Darkness and shadows are coming," said Theresa, "and only as Albion's ruler may you tip the tides against them. Only a benevolent ruler, a Hero, and not alone but with the forces of all three, can defeat such an attack. "

"Wait – my brother – a _Hero_?"

"You are a Hero, too, Logan," she remarked, and Darius' eyebrows shot up. "Did you never think as to why you should so great a strength as a child? Why you prevailed with a blade and not the modern firearm? Why, even now you've forfeited everything, it's your iron sword, the blade that was taken from you, which you miss above all else."

"You – how did you know all this!" he demanded.

Theresa remained silent. Loan would not hit her; he was not a cruel man, but Darius swore his brother looked close to leaving the throne room in a rage. If Darius hadn't been scowling, he would've certainly been laughing. Hearing Logan's despair from having had his father's sword taken from him, though, he was again filled with anger by Theresa's continued interference in their lives. Why had she never told him that his brother was a Hero of Strength!

"It was never about the darkness, or Logan," said Darius, striding forward. His brother caught his arm, and just for a moment their eyes met with an understanding between them over how they had both been manipulated. But Darius still turned his gaze back onto her, "Why did you wait so long to tell me? Why do you need me – specifically me – on the throne?"

"Simply, there is no other Hero as benevolent nor as capable in ruling," she versed, causing Darius to snort, as he was hardly benevolent. "But beware, young Heroes – this is only the beginning. You will need to build an Alliance, for the darkness and shadows shall arise to fight for power in a single year's time, against you and all else, and you must be ready."

Theresa stepped towards the portal, and without turning her head, she whispered, "…Unless you can form this alliance, all of the history that has yet to come will cease to be to this evil."

Theresa vanished into the portal, and it swirled closed behind her. The two brothers stepped down the stairs to return to their former places.

"– Because I still haven't forgiven you for Major Swift's execution," Ben finished, with a fist clenched at his side.

The King sighed as reality returned with the passing of time, and Logan stepped back to give Darius space. No doubt, his thoughts were still on Theresa's words.

"Actually, Ben," said Darius with a devious smile, one brought on from a burst of inspiration, "I think you're the best person suited to being in charge of the security for Logan."

"What – _no_! No!"

"Yes, you are." Darius narrowed his gaze, daring the young Captain to disobey his anointed King. "But we'd best discuss it in the war room. I don't want to be overheard by anyone."

"Aye, these walls are paper thin," agreed Walter, sweeping to stand by them. "And I've seen more than enough of the throne room for one morning."

"Fine, fine." Ben waved a careless hand, as if to seem nonchalant. "But my answer is still gonna be the same."

They vacated the throne room in favour of the war room, leaving the servants to spring past them and start cleaning. Fortunately, given that the war room had been constructed near the back of the castle, they wouldn't run into any servants or citizens.

/***\

The war room's occupants gradually diminished, with Page and Ben both motioning that they had best return to the base in Bowerstone before darkness settled in. Although Sabine would also return swiftly tomorrow by carriage, he desired to return to his Mountains and settle the dwellers. With Logan vacated from the throne, the dwellers would be celebrating.

As for Kalin, Darius requested for her to remain as an Ambassador for the present time. There was much to discuss over the battle's impact upon Aurora; and besides, her ships would need some repair at the docks before she and her people could safely return aboard them.

Finally, Logan retreated in want of a guest room for the night, his new room not having been yet prepared. Under much persuasion, Ben agreed to guard as well as choose others to watch over the former King, as that gained Captain Finn a room at the palace. Logan could thereby remain in the castle under surveillance, and even though this angered Sabine, the prospect that Logan would never have a moment alone again to himself appeased him.

"The line between friend and foe is growing dimmer," Walter murmured, as he downed yet another glass of red wine. "Dare I say, that was a risky move in keeping your brother's life, lad."

"He's a Hero, Walter," admitted Darius finally, with a quiet sigh, "…and we need his troops. Like I said earlier, both the darkness and shadows will come within a year. Theresa showed us…and we need to build an alliance, build bridges with people to face it."

Walter balked, snorting loudly.

"Aye, but I'll sure as hell be keeping a peg nose with me if you start allying us with Hobbes," he laughed, before shaking his head and sighing. "Anyway, tomorrow, you'll be meeting your new Royal Advisor, Hobson. He's…well, obsessed with wealth, but he did serve your brother well whilst under him and you'll need to raise a fortune to pay for the Army we'll need."

Darius scoffed. "Let's just hope he's loyal."

Walter rolled his eyes. They sat for another hour in the war room, tossing out ideas for troop organisation whilst laughing idly, but as the evening progressed and the realisation of what they were facing settled upon them, they excused themselves finally and each made for their own beds in the castle.

Darius trudged from the war room and entered his chambers up the stairs, turning to slam the doors shut. Prior to the morning and his moving in to the Castle, the servants had changed his sheets and quilts, as well having assisted in placing all his goods away in drawers and closets. It was all neatly sorted and placed, but still not one ounce of it felt homely.

For a start, the bedroom was all too close to the throne room for his tastes.

"Well, that was quite the little stir-up of the century, my King," Reaver remarked casually.

Startled, Darius turned around, his eyes locking onto the Industrious man in front of him. "Reaver - what are you doing here!"

"And may I humbly say, Your Majesty, how fitting you look. Why, I should even say that you are quite handsomely glowing in your new _attire_."

Reaver's eyes were lingering on his crown. Although a pretty thing of gold and diamonds, its weight seemed but another heavy burden, a reminder, that sat on Darius' mind of what he had gone through to become King.

Darius sent Reaver a weary scowl in return. "How long have you been here? And were you here already – watching my first act as King?"

"Ah, I have not been here long. I did not overhear the entire proceedings, as they would have been entirely too dull for my senses, but I did catch the ending," he alluded, chuckling lightly. "And what a sentimental ending it was, to save your beloved sibling from the masses. Truly, I've never been all that interested in family disputes, but you two, well –"

"Reaver, I'm tired…and I'm certainly not interested in what you're interested in right now," Darius belittled, catching the man's responding frown. "I sent for you only because of my son's dire health."

"You sent for me, my King?" said Reaver, his tone still quite amused. "Oh, well I must have missed the messenger...or simply shot him. I left Bloodstone not two days after your little departure and have been in Bowerstone for some time, attending to my darling factories."

"Yes, of course – your _factories_." Darius rolled his eyes; he shouldn't have expected the truth from Reaver; "But you're also back to evade the shadows, I take it?"

Reaver looked like he hadn't slept a wink since their last encounter aboard his ship, when Darius had returned from failing to fulfil his end of their bargain. It puzzled him why Reaver hadn't been violent with him, hadn't shot or thrown a wine glass for having failed to continue his petty deal with the Shadows.

"Oh, they have tried," Reaver replied, a small smile on his lips. "Like with so many, though, I botched up their plans to ensnare me. Those shadows…always so predictable, you know."

Darius sighed in annoyance. He couldn't deal with both Theresa and Reaver tonight. The two were sure to drive him mad; they might've hated one another, but they sure liked confusing him.

"Look, if you can't help my son, Reaver," he said, tired of playing games, "then the only thing that you shall be useful for in the near coming future is your beloved factories."

Reaver sniffed. His clutch upon his walking stick hardened and Darius cautiously moved his hand to his side, where the Black Dragon lay settled at his hip and beneath his green kingly robes.

"Then it seems we are at a cross-road, wouldn't you say, my King," Reaver snapped. He strode forwards; the stick clicked against the carpet with his every step. "What would you have that would interest me now? You have already rid me of that troublesome rogues in Bloodstone, and you cannot bride me with wealth. I have enough of my own."

"My son is afflicted by the shadows – by what happened when I ventured down into their Court to fulfil your sacrifice," he growled, knowing that his voice sounded desperate and seething with anger. "Assist me, Reaver, in ridding their influence from my son and I will give you whatever you want – anything!"

An eyebrow arched up in interest. "Why would the Shadows have an interest in your son?" Reaver asked.

"There are a number of reasons. He's the son of a Hero, a King; perhaps they wish to see me in pain for ending the sacrifices; perhaps they're simply malicious, I know not. All I know is that my son, Tristan, has not consumed anything in days and yet still lives. He breathes, but he is like in the sleeping death…and I – I need help."

Darius resisted the urge to sob and instead swept a hand across his forehead. He would not break down in front of Reaver.

"So be it. I shall aid you, my King," conceded Reaver, with a short bow and a smug smile; "…although, my condition is that you shall aid me against the shadows. It is by your own hands after all that I am suffering their wrath now, wouldn't you agree?"

"I…fine, Reaver," he answered briskly. "Just follow me. There is something that you should see first before you agree to this."

Darius walked over to the right side of the bedroom and lifted the curtain that blocked their sight from the adjourning room. Reaver followed with a raised brow, one that Darius, if but for a moment, was tempted to slap from his face.

As Reaver entered the small bedroom, bending beneath Darius' arm that held up the curtain and stepping too close in Darius' personal space, the King ignored him in favour of turning towards the crib. An unspoken stillness carried over the room. Only their breathing and the muffled chatter of servants outside disturbed the silence.

Reaver coughed into a gloved palm. "So – to whom is this little tyke?" he inquired. "Your darling offspring, I take it?"

"Yes, this is Tristan." Darius turned his head and cast Reaver a poisonous glare, almost daring the man to speak ill of his son, "…And if anyone dares to lay even a finger on him against my will, they will pay – understand, Reaver? I won't allow the shadows to have him, not anyone."

Reaver rolled his eyes. "Well, if you have it in your mind that those dammed shadows will simply bow to words, Darius, then you –"

"I won't submit to them, Reaver – not like you did with that deal," he seethed, moving away from his son's sleeping form to face Reaver without the crib between them. "Tristan may be afflicted by them, but I will do everything in my power to stop it."

"What is it that you exactly desire of me, my King?" asked Reaver, stepping forward with his narrowing blue eyes. "Surely, you will have all your little followers doing the manual work, the reading and whatnot, so have use have you for _moi_?"

"A reasonable question, since I do not trust you anyway," he replied. "For one, your skills as a Hero; your influence amongst the populace; that you likely now carry a vendetta against the shadows, am I correct?" Reaver smirked, neither conceding nor disagreeing. Darius continued on, "But the main reason I _desire_ your help is your knowledge about the shadows. Other than myself, you're the only person I know of who's crossed them and lived. Frankly, you needn't tell me of your deal if it does bother you, but you know how they kill and how they think. If I want to rid their hold on my son, I'll need to know those things."

"You do realise that having crossed the shadows, you'll not endanger only your son, but also yourself and others close to you," remarked Reaver pointedly.

Darius snorted. "Of course I know that."

"And you promise to concede anything that I desire to me?"

"As long as it's in my power _and_ reasonable, Reaver. For example, no wishing to be King, for all of Albion's wealth and land, or likewise. I'll grant you titles or positions, more free rein in your dealings abroad if you wish, anything so long as it is within reason."

Reaver's light blue eyes drifted across his body. Darius stepped back, his cheeks burning at the abrupt change from business to desire in their talks. _But Reaver couldn't desire him that much, to make that sort of a deal?_

"Would you, my King," said Reaver, with a lick of his upper lip, "would you even forfeit your precious Black Dragon pistol to me?"

Taken back by the desire for his gun, masterful though it was, Darius swiftly cast his mind from what he had perceived would be Reaver's intentions.

"Yes," he answered, although not without gritting his teeth as Reaver smirked; "…I would even forfeit the Black Dragon to you, provided that your assistance would be worth it."

Enclosing in his personal space again, and just as Darius seized a hold of his gun, thinking the man about to attack, Reaver stuck out his hand. Darius released his grip on his pistol.

Reaver smirked, having noticed his movements. "I believe it is custom to shake hands when concluding a deal, is it not?"

Darius seized Reaver's hand, feeling the strength and warmth beneath and placing it aside in his mind. He could still recall the events between Reaver and himself from weeks ago; how their bodies had pressed against one another in his ship's hold, separated only by clothing, and how Reaver's lips had left him dazed and wanting.

"We've a deal, Reaver," he answered, "…and make sure you don't betray me again."

"Oh," said Reaver, sounding falsely surprised, "Well then, do make sure that you hold up your end of your bargain this time as well. I do hate being disappointed, you know."

Reaver lifted and kissed the back of his hand so lightly, so effortlessly, that Darius felt only the wetness of his soft lips for a mere moment before his hand returned to his side.

"Reaver…" he whispered.

"Yes, my King?"

Not since his crowning had the word _King_ seemed so seductive, so _right_. Darius felt a sense of rightness, even pride, when Reaver called him King; his smug tone mocked the very word, and yet underneath laid a tenderness. Darius stepped back toward the bed, repressing the urge to kiss the industrialist. There were still too many unanswered questions.

"I want an honest answer, Reaver." He was surprised by the firmness in his voice. "Why are you not angry with me? The shadows must be at your back, and yet here you stand before me – still alive. _How,_ Reaver?"

Reaver sighed. He idly placed his cane against the wall and turned to face him.

"My return from Bloodstone was not due to a desire to check on my investments, but because the shadows' influence is spreading." His eyes closed; he seemed so afraid, so affected, that Darius resisted reaching out to him. "I can feel their hold on my heart tightening. I awoke not two nights ago to a mist circling my bed, and I was forced to kill more than thirty shadows till the dawn came. They vanished and I took ship for Bowerstone, but I know they yet haunt my ruinous Manor."

He released a callous chuckle. "I am quite enraged, Your Majesty, I assure you, but at myself more than you." Reaver shook his head, and pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose in frustration. "The Shadow Judges will not have me, I swear…"

"Reaver, you have sacrificed hundreds to continue living," Darius reminded, and yet with a frown. "Surely, you didn't think there wouldn't be consequences to your actions?"

"You will forgive me if I don't confess to you my deepest, _darling_ feelings, Your Majesty," he mocked pleasantly, "or any past events that I'm quite sure have been misplaced from my mind due to my untimely busy lifestyle."

"Funny how selective your mind's become."

Reaver crossed the room towards him. Darius caught his gaze; Reaver's purple-bagged eyes remained on him, unrelenting.

"Alas, it appears that some details have slipped my mind," he murmured, a smirk adorning his face. "But, you know, I do seem to recall the journey aboard my ship. Indeed, your inspection of my hold was a most enticing time, was it not?"

Darius sighed and stepped back.

"Just go, Reaver. I'm in no mood to be _enticed_." He felt melancholy, and not in any mood for a distraction. "If you learn of how I might save my son, then provide that information. But no doubt, with my kingly role, I'll be seeing you and your industries again all too soon."

Reaver recovered his cane and stood formally upright. "And I shall look forward with all due _desire_ to your visitation, King Darius," he finished.

He gracefully bowed and vacated from the room with a sweeping movement, passing Darius without casting a glance in his direction. Enraged, Darius broke several chairs and set his bed curtains on fire. A hopeless feeling of wretchedness overwhelmed him after he'd worn out his will, but as the servants watered down the flames, he couldn't bring himself to care.

He didn't return to his bed. In the end, with aching limbs and eyelids, Darius fell asleep in the armchair beside his son's crib.


	2. The Black Seal

**Warnings**: Please be aware that this fan-fiction will contain profanities, sexual content, many bloody battles, some character deaths (although no one that the Fables series hadn't already killed off!), and an overly obsessive usage of semi-colons and 'big' words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fable series. This piece of fiction is being written for merely entertainment purposes.

Rated: **M!**

A/N: Inspired by a book in Fable II called 'The Temple of Light', here is the following chapter. Also, the cover image is dedicated to this chapter, as I've imagined how Reaver might look if he was walking through Bowerstone amidst all the smog and his factories. Took me a while to find this amazing image and I'd of course be willing to take it down should the creator ask, but this chapter is I suppose inspired a little by the image. Anyway, enjoy, and if you've any opinions, do voice them through a review.

_Summary:__ The Shadows have a hold upon the King's son; they have ended their deal with the Pirate King; and their influence is growing within Albion's domain. As Darius builds up an Alliance against this oncoming attack in a year by the Shadows and Darkness, he cannot help but feel that some other force is out there. However, can the King even trust his companions in his time of need? __Fable III: Reaver/Prince._

**_When Shadows and Darkness Descend_**

**Chapter Two: The Black Seal**

As Darius dressed that morning, he came across underpants in a chest of drawers that didn't belong to him. The two pairs of boxers belonged to Reaver, and Darius' stunned shock at finding them again brought an aching blush to his cheeks.

The pairs must have been in his pockets when he'd given his trousers to Jasper back in Bloodstone, and the servants had likely mistaken them for his own after Jasper had assisted him yesterday in packing for his new home. God only knew what Jasper had thought of him then, carrying underwear in his pockets.

Darius shook his head, chuckling. If Reaver had known his boxers were inside the King's bedroom last night, he'd shown no sign, but if Benjamina still desired them, the pairs would fetch a pretty price of a hundred coins each. Darius also found he still held other items that belonged to Reaver from their time aboard his ship – a shirt, pants, and a pair of boots. Jasper had done a superb job in patching them up.

Darius slipped his own boxers on. Forgoing his kingly attire, he pulled on his mercenary boots (patched up), the mercenary pair of black trousers, and the black shirt he'd burrowed from Reaver (it was a fine shirt anyway).

Not half an hour later, after checking once more on his son, Darius entered the war room with Rylin trailing alongside him. He spotted Walter in his military uniform and a formerly dressed man in vile white breeches and a bright red coat.

"Ah, Your Majesty, it is an honour," greeted the man, bowing so low that his baldhead shined into Darius' eyesight. "I served under your brother's reign, and I hope to offer as much assurance."

"Yes, of course." Darius didn't really know what else to say.

Walter chuckled. "Well, I'll be taking my leave. Having Logan's troops on our side is a good start, but you'll need to raise a fortune to pay for the Army." Water turned to the bald-headed man, "I'm afraid I'll have to leave Hobson here to show you the daily agenda, Your Majesty, as I'll be training Logan's men all day."

"Of course, Walter," said Darius. "Have fun training the men."

"Ah, it'll just be like old times," chuckled Walter. "And good luck to you, Your Majesty. You'll need it on your first day, I daresay."

Walter strode from the room, and Darius envied him, as he ran down Hobson's list of duties. For his second task, he noted Reaver had already requested his presence in Bowerstone Industrial. He'd known Reaver would want to speak with him, but Darius hadn't thought he'd be needed for several days after the way Reaver had left in a temper last night.

"Ah, the first matter on hand is to inspect the Treasury," announced Hobson, with unhidden eagerness. "If you would follow me, I shall show you."

Through the double-doors to his left, Darius found a pile of glittering gold at the centre of the room, though he knew he had more in the Sanctuary.

"This is it, Your Majesty, Albion's Royal Treasury. The store of the kingdom's total wealth." Hobson bowed fashionably, his tone overly sensational. This was probably a glorious moment for him; not all citizens got to see the Treasury, after all. "But as you can see, it is almost empty. Yet, can you imagine it, my King: shimmering with hills and valleys of gold, reaching to the ceiling."

Darius could imagine it, so why hadn't it been filled already? "I thought Logan introduced measures to fill it."

"I did," came a curled voice from behind. Darius turned, and watched as his brother walked down the stairs with Ben and a second guard at his side. "I did introduce measures to increase the Treasury, but the people would not listen."

"Yeah," scorned Ben, "because folk can always afford to pay extreme taxes."

Logan crossed his arms. "I did what was necessary."

Rylin barked, interrupting their growing spat. Heated eyes turned from one another to the dog, who was chasing his tail beside the small pile of gold.

Darius snorted. "That's enough, you two. I'll make sure to increase the Treasury in a year, whatever it takes. Now, is there anything more before I leave for the Industrial district, Hobson?"

"Why, yes. We must set the tax rate for the coming year. A task I'm personally very excited about," he announced, with a winning smile. "And as you probably know, your brother –" he looked upon Logan "- taxed the people rather heavily, and some say this has lead to poverty, starvation, and other societal ills. You have three clear choices, Your Majesty."

"One, to lower the tax rate, which would no doubt help the poor and the hungry but leave our Treasury in a miserable state," he exclaimed with horror. "Two, maintaining Logan's policies. Not popular with the people, but favourable to our Treasury. And three, and don't let my enthusiasm here influence you in _any_ way, you could raise the taxes even further."

"That's insane." Ben stormed forward, glaring at the Advisor. "Do you know how many people would suffer if they were raised?"

"And this is why you're a Captain, not a politician." Logan scoffed when Ben placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. "It merely comes down to one question. Would you rather people die of simple social ills, or cause thousands of deaths from being ill-equipped to defend our nation?"

Hobson nodded in agreement. "True, many would suffer due to a tax increase, but we would be able to protect the kingdom and be able to run our fingers over vast amounts of gold in this very room. So – what shall it be, Your Majesty?"

"Maintain Logan's taxation policies," Darius replied. "I've seen how things are in Bowerstone. Any increase in taxation and we shan't have workers left to employ or train."

Ben scowled, but he could hardly object when he'd faced the shadows in Aurora himself, fighting them in the streets alongside his friends.

"Very well, Your Majesty. A most prudent choice – with the revolution, most are used to the current state of poverty," said Hobson, and Darius winced. "I have no doubt that those who will survive shall thank you."

"But you will still need to raise a lot more gold by other means…unless you are willing to donate some of your wealth," he added, with a shrilly chuckle. "Oh, just a little joke on my part, Your Majesty. But nevertheless, you should acquaint yourself with the Royal Legislature."

But Hobson allowed Darius only a moment to spend examining the book on the centre table before he continued on. It seemed simple enough, and Darius refocused his attention.

"…Reaver has a most intriguing proposal, You Majesty. He is awaiting you in Bowerstone Industrial." With a gleaming smile, he continued, "And I know that you've had your differences, but I employ you to place them aside so that you and he may work together. Nobody can raise money like Reaver can, I assure you."

Ben snorted. "That's not all Reaver can get, apparently."

Darius shot him a vicious glare; he almost fancied punching the Captain simply for the implication.

Hobson merely chuckled. "I have seen to it that your visitation has been well publicised, You Majesty, so expect a large crowd waiting to greet their new King."

A groan escaped Darius' lips. "Great. Thanks, Hobson."

"In any case, I shall be remaining here in the castle," said Logan, returning to the war room. "My mind, I fear, is still reeling from Theresa's news. It is difficult to comprehend."

Darius nodded. "I understand, but if it's anything, Logan, I intend on having you retain your strength. If you haven't shown any protest against my rule in the next coming weeks, I'll have some small form of weapon, a shortsword, produced for you to practice with," he told him, a small smile on his lips. "In the coming attack, I can't have you unused to father's sword after all, brother."

Logan's mouth fell agape, before he swiftly closed it. "I did not expect to hold a weapon ever again, in truth. You...you shall have my sword and gratitude, Your Majesty."

The former King departed from the room with a smile on his cracked lips. Darius bid Hobson farewell as well, and he requested a carriage for Bowerstone Industrial. The journey was slow and rough, and Darius spent the trip reading a book on curses.

He'd asked Ben, Page, Walter, and Brightwall's librarian, Samuel, to start researching cures for his son. Last night, Darius had spent an entire two hours reading before falling asleep in an armchair beside his son, only to continue once more on waking. He was still no closer to curing Tristan.

Darius exited the carriage, a cough leaving his throat as he stepped out into the smog filled streets of Industrial. A crowd stood behind lined barriers of ribbons. Passing them by, shrilly cheers and screams of _'Your Majesty_' bombarded his ears. He waved and quickly made his way to the factory, hoping any business Reaver wanted could be over soon.

"Don't tempt me, Reaver. I shot you once, and I will do it again."

Reaver laughed. "Oh, I still get tingles from recalling that day, my dear. But you really should consider my offer – honestly, how could you deny yourself such an impossibly delicious prospect, hmmm?"

Darius scowled, wondering what on Earth they were discussing. Was Reaver offering Page sex again? The very idea –

"The same way I deny myself all other repulsive things," she said. "Now please, _please_, stop talking to me."

Darius attempted _not_ to focus on the irritation building in his chest as Reaver continued, his innuendoes towards Page growing evermore vulgar. Darius stepped forward from around the corner and past the brick-walled entrance. He recalled with a silent frown that this area was in fact the first place he met Reaver, when he'd shot a protesting worker.

"Ah, Your Majesty, how gracious of you to grant us your radiant presence on this grand morning," said Reaver, the greeting holding less sincerity when Darius noticed the man's eyes drawing over his shirt. It hadn't escaped the Industrialist's notice then, and Darius smirked. "And may I humbly say, your attire is indeed a most ostentatious surprise, but also pleasing to the public eye. I commend you on your choice of shirts most of all."

Darius flushed. "Yes, thank you for compliment." He almost wished Page wasn't present for Reaver's words then, but he'd hardly acted out of his usual, flirty character. "However, I do not think that we're here to discuss clothes this morning, Reaver."

"No, we're not," said Page, impatiently tapping her foot.

"Indeed, I knew you'd emerge victorious from such sibling rivalry and here you stand, ready to listen with all your royal degree to our modest wishes." Though Reaver's majestic words were more for the public than themselves, Darius still felt some form of pride creep into his veins. Somehow, he would have to learn to grow immune to Reaver's tongue. "So here I am, to assist you in filling your coffers till they are fit to burst – and what better way to begin your reign than by reinstating my most successful policies of all?"

Page snorted. "I wouldn't call enslaving children a success, Reaver."

"Ah, ah, yet there is not greater waste than the idleness of our youth, my dear Page. My employment scheme guarantees that children of all ages will have something to occupy them, whilst ensuring our factories are properly manned."

"That's…it's just monstrous!" Page stamped her foot, her palms clenching at her sides. "Don't listen to him. You promised that you would end child labour – remember that promise now, my King."

"And what would you have us do with the little snotty little indigents?" asked Reaver, placing a hand on his hip and arching an apparently interested eyebrow in her direction.

Darius scowled. He remembered Reaver's behaviour towards Page in the ballroom when they first met, and he didn't want the Industrial tycoon looking at Page, no matter that Reaver didn't belong to him. It was like a gnawing feeling in Darius' chest that wanted tear Reaver away from her.

Page crossed her arms, shaking her head at him. "The only way that Bowerstone is going to climb itself out of the gutter is through education. Nothing is more important to our future. Turn this factory into a school, and give the children of this city the chance they never had."

"A school? Well, that's an original thought," Reaver cut in, his gaze settling on Darius. "If you would like to be known as a pauper monarch, then by all means, listen to her. Reaver Industries will abide by your decision, my beloved King."

Darius ignored the mocking tone that Reaver had used, speaking about his _beloved_ King. Darius could not forget the way he'd left his chambers last night, the coldness behind the word King before the man had left the castle. _This is business, the future of our youth_, Darius thought. _And yet Reaver makes this out as all a game of words._

"Of course," added Reaver, with an indolent shrug, "the little tykes do enjoy playing with machinery. Can you really spare them that pleasure?"

Page scowled. "What pleasure is there in getting your fingers sliced off?" she shouted. "You Majesty, your own son – how can you allow him the pleasure of education whilst others are starved of it?"

"Do not bring Tristan into this, Page. You go too far now." Darius stepped forward, feeling will tingle at his fingertips. "You know what his condition is."

"You're right," she said, though she showed no sympathy in her face. "But think of it morally. I know we must prepare for war, but how can we prepare without our youth knowing that they have a future? Are we to give them only hard work for the rest of their lives?"

Darius sighed. "The factory will become a school…that is my decision," he declared loudly, with his decision met with violent cheers. "But –" the crowd quietened "– there will be set measures on what is studied, and each family shall pay a penny each week to go towards the purchasing of books and else for children."

"But what if the parents can't pay or the child's an orphan?" Page protested.

"Then the state shall provide through taxation, I'll make sure of it," Darius reassured, thinking quickly. "After the attack, education will be made free to all youth ages, but the economy cannot take such a rash measure. It is the only thing I can offer at this time, Page."

"Well, thank you. It is a start, and we can really start changing people's lives now." Page had a smile on her lips now, though Darius doubted she would remain content for long. "This shall be an Albion worth fighting for."

Reaver leaned on his cane, his jaw caught in a wide grin from chuckling. "What a surprisingly well- imagined notion, Your Majesty," he said. "Very enterprising, indeed. And fair. Oh, I shall begin the modifications at once."

Darius nodded. "Good. Now, I require both of you to ride with me to the castle. We need to discuss the Quarter's future and it can only be formally agreed upon inside the castle. If you'll follow me…"

The three vacated the area and drifted down the outlined barrier towards the King's carriage, Reaver swinging his cane all the way. Informing the driver to return to the castle, Darius climbed inside and waited as Reaver and Page clambered wordlessly in behind. Whilst the Industrialist sat opposite him, humming tunelessly away with his top hat placed on his lap, Page sat beside Darius with guilty eyes.

"I was honest before. I'm sorry for having brought up your son in our arguments, but...I suppose I got carried away," she confessed. "How is Tristan, really?"

Sighing, Darius placed two fingers to the bridge of his nose. "He neither wakes nor eats, and I am tired of knowing I cannot help him. I don't even know if he'll live once he wakes. The shadows have not yet contacted me, so I can only guess at what they desire."

"There must be a reason they're holding him," said Reaver. "I can't fathom what the shadows would want with a snotty young brat, save that he is a Hero's son."

"Reaver, I don't appreciate you calling children snotty little brats, indigents, or whatever else you have so far insulted them with." That was another reason why Darius hadn't given into temptation last night. Reaver would never be a good father, and Darius wouldn't have a man who made deals with shadows in Tristan's life. "Please don't do so again in my presence. I am a father myself, remember."

"I shall endeavour to remember that little sentiment," vowed Reaver, with an amused wink. "After all, one should never wish for the wrath of a King upon them now, should one?"

Page shot Reaver a scrutinising look and Darius felt a rising burst of irritation in his chest again. Darius knew he was jealous of the attention Reaver had shown her this morning. It wasn't difficult figuring out his emotions, but the idea of being jealous because Reaver might fancy Page more was unacceptable.

He was Albion's King, as well. Even if he wanted Reaver, well, no one would accept the union between them. It wasn't like Sparrow's time now, where he could marry whoever he wanted. He needed a noble - and Reaver wasn't a noblemen.

"In any case," Darius continued with a solemn sigh, after a few moments of tense silence, "Logan has yet to see Tristan. After our talk on Bowerstone Quarter in the throne room, I plan on showing him his nephew."

Reaver hummed. "I am sure Logan will only be too thrilled by you entrusted faith. Do make sure your little Trissy comes to no harm now, won't you?"

Darius ignored the hidden agenda in Reaver's remark. He would make sure that he wasn't the only one present when Logan met his son. Several guards posted to observe Logan's actions would also need to keep aware; but then, with no less than three armed persons present, any aggressive move Logan made would be idiotic.

"Have you discovered what the shadows have done to my son?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, Darius, Tristan's state is so peculiar – and there are so little books on the shadows – that I've had problems learning anything," said Page. "All I've discovered is what we already know: that the shadows are creatures born from people's desires, and so aren't to be crossed without expecting payment in return. Whatever happened to your son, it's payment for something."

Reaver remained silent. Darius liked to think he was to blame for his son's predicament, because he truly was in every essence. Reaver had started this whole mess with the shadows and he'd had asked Darius to enter the Shadows' dominion. He hadn't even given him any protection, either. Reaver just expected him to age or let the girl age - two options that hadn't appealed to him at all.

It was only because through his mother's Seal that the Judges' powers hadn't affected him. Frowning, Darius remembered how his friends still hadn't seen the Seal. Placing his hand into his pocket, he retrieved the golden seal and laid it out on his palm.

"This Seal – do you two recognise it?"

Reaver's eyes grew wide. "Is that – Your Majesty, I think you must excuse me – I must leave you this instant." He tapped the side of the carriage with his cane, bringing the horses to a stop along one of Industrial's lanes.

"There is still the old Quarter to discuss at the castle, Reaver," said Page. "You cannot leave now."

"Oh, I do loathe leaving my beloved King's presence, be well assured, Page." He tossed a cheeky wink at Darius, "I'm almost positive I would've convinced him to leave that pitiful place you call a Quarter to rust, but I'm afraid I must entrust one of my advisors to take my place. He will be sure to argue my case in this oh-_so_ important matter."

Darius pointed at finger at Reaver's chest. "Well, as your _beloved_ King, I demand you tell us what's so damned important that you'd forgo a meeting with the Crown."

"Oh, but that would ruin all the fun of guessing," he snickered. "Tatty-bye, my King."

Reaver grabbed Darius' hand and pressed a hard kiss against his knuckles. His hold released when the carriage came to an abrupt stop, and the man jumped out, not even taking the carriage steps. He turned, tapped the carriage, and slammed shut the door. Darius watched him walk back towards Industrial once more, clanking his cane with every step. A little bit peeved didn't even cover the ire the King now felt.

"Okay," drawled Page. "Care to inform me what that hand kissing was about, and what all that beloved King crap was? I mean, I know Reaver has a certain way with words - but really, _beloved_?"

"I'd meant to mention it to you, but it just didn't seem important with the revolution and all," admitted Darius. "Ben already knows, although he hasn't been as quiet as I would've liked about it."

Page snorted. "What exactly does Captain Finn know that I don't?"

"During our trip to Bloodstone, Reaver and I became…intimate with one another." Darius recalled how Reaver had dressed himself whilst Ben had slept and the numerous other occasions they'd been in each other's presence, every one more teasing than the last. "I...we kissed once, but nothing more, I swear."

"You still bloody want that child-slaving son of bitch, though," said Page, sitting back in her seat with her head in her hands. She groaned, "Of all the things to occur, a pirate attack, Ben's death, failing to stop the noble-killer group - _anything_ would've been better to hear than how Reaver got his dirty palms into the King's pants."

"Oi! It's nothing as far as you're thinking." Not that Darius hadn't thought about where Reaver might put his palms on him, but that was moot as far as reality went. "We haven't had intercourse, and you know I wouldn't trust Reaver anymore than I could throw him…which would actually be pretty far, I suppose, given I'm a Hero." He chuckled at the imagery before going on to say, "Forget that last I just said. All you need to know, is that I still don't trust the man."

"Good," she moaned. "Just make sure you remember that before letting that bastard near your bed."

"I know what I'm doing, Page." He was growing irritated by her mistrust of him. "I am Albion's King, and Reaver wouldn't do anything stupid to warrant a king's wrath."

She scoffed. "We don't even know what he's up to right now."

Darius didn't reply. They'd reached the castle's entrance and anything more would only be speculation now. He trailed up the stairs to enter the throne room, half-expecting Reaver to still appear in his usual spot, a witty smile gracing his lips. When Darius' hopeful eyes glanced over though, he found the spot already filled.

In Reaver's space stood an advisor, a boorish, short man who knew far too much legal terms but didn't have the same passion in his words. He didn't have that pleasant flair for enterprise Reaver possessed, and as he finished telling the Crown of Reaver's plans to simply leave the Quarter alone, Darius had to repress a sigh of boredom.

In the end, he promised Page to renew the Quarter. He'd the coin in his personal accounts, anyway, and the revolution had impacted Bowerstone Quarter most, so it was more or less his duty now to repair it. Still, even though Darius strongly doubted Reaver could've even convinced him otherwise, listening to the Pirate King's voice would've at least made the opposition's side more _splendid_ to listen to. Darius groaned at the thought; he missed Reaver's arguments so much now, his mind was attempting to make up for the lack of Reaver's dramatic tongue.

For a moment during the session, Darius even entertained the idea that Page actually missed him. Of course that was utter barking nonsense, but Page crossed her arms and rolled her eyes when Reaver's advisor talked on and on about housing policies. She looked just as bored as Darius had grown, and after which, she professed the idea that Reaver had set the man on them on purpose - to _annoy_ them.

Darius wasn't certain about that. What he was wholly certain about, however, was on making Reaver the Official Opposition. Unless Reaver was on death's damned door, he never wanted to see another one of the man's advisors again. Fortunately, the advisor informed them he would return to Reaver's mansion with the news, so Reaver Industries could begin the renewal of the old Quarter at once.

With his duties having finished for the day, Darius retired to his chambers. That evening, Logan and he talked about the past year, a topic only ventured into through having a steady supply of wine at hand. Logan was pleased to see he had a nephew and spoke to him fondly, but the moment didn't last long. The guards twitched when Logan stepped back from leaning over Tristan's crib. They needn't have worried, though. Logan only stepped forward to seat himself in an armchair.

"You have been through much, brother," said Logan, dejected. "I didn't want you to see Aurora, to ever experience the darkness, but you did. It is a thing you do not wish even on your most hated enemy."

Darius nodded, understanding Logan perfectly, and he sat himself down beside his brother. He hadn't wanted Tristan to witness anything in connection with his dealings in the world, and now his son had become the centre of it all.

"When I went to Aurora, Kalin said you'd been there four years ago." Darius knew he was delving into Logan's emotions and past experiences with the darkness, and whilst he wished the guards weren't with them, he needed to his brother's advice. "What was it like when you met them?"

"The crawler disposed of all my men. Everyone but myself died in that desert." Logan downed another glass of wine - his fourth, Darius faintly remembered. "When I awoke, I found this beside my bed."

From his pocket, Logan produced a rounded object covered by a small piece of cloth. Unfolding it, he produced a black Seal with runes that circled it's entire form. Unlike Reaver's black-and-red seal, or even Darius' ones, the golden Guild Seal and his mother's white-toned seal, Logan's gift was entirely black. This object wasn't simply dark, though. By the way Logan clung to the device, Darkness' gift had obviously served him as a bleak reminder of his time in Aurora for many years.

"Kalin informed me after I woke in her Temple that they'd discovered me with this Seal on my chest." Logan's grasp was tightening enough to turn his knuckles white, and Darius, concerned, laid a hand on his brother's knee. Logan sighed, "I have not been able to throw it away. I haven't the willpower."

"Don't... don't throw it," said Darius, looking at the ground. He removed the hand from Logan's knee to run it through his hair, "I have two Seals, and I know Reaver has one. Whatever they are, they were given to us for a reason."

"All right," said Logan, though he didn't sound too convinced. "I think I can your reasoning."

Darius brought out the seals from his pocket: the Guild and the Light, which had protected him against the Judges. A guardsman twitched towards his pistol as Logan reached out, grazing his fingertips over the Guild Seal. The Seal lit up, glowing a bright golden hue. Logan extracted his fingers away.

"The Guild Seal only responds to Heroes," said Darius, with a light smile. "Now we for certain you're one."

Logan still looked apprehensive about the _hero_ thing and Darius could hardly blame him. Heroes were only legends they'd read in books. Their mother might've been one, but she'd died young. Now, Darius could at least say he knew at least three in person.

"I did not believe Theresa at first, but indeed, it does appear to be true," Logan whispered. He made to refill both his own and his brother's wine glasses. Darius practically downed his own, overwhelmed by the knowledge his brother had a Seal. Consuming his own to the last drop as well, Logan's gaze fell on the second Seal in Darius' palm, "I think I recall mother passing that one onto you."

Darius smiled. "Mother's Seal protected me against the shadow Judges, you know, in Wraithmarsh, but it also lead to Tristan being influenced by the shadows." He sighed, and glanced up at his brother. "It might react to you, as well. It is mother's seal, after all. Do you - would care to touch it?"

The King knew how much their mother had meant to Logan. Her death had affected both her sons, but more Logan than himself. Logan outstretched his hand and laid his fingertips across the Seal's smooth edge. A light grew from the Seal again, overwhelming his son's chambers in a show of white shades. It was another moment before the light faded, and Darius heard his brother's pained hiss before he could see his brother's scalded fingers.

The guards were also trained on Logan, weapons drawn, and Darius stood and blocked their view. His glare had one guardswomen swallowing hard. "Stand down," he seethed, and they swiftly followed his orders. He turned to his brother, "Logan – are you – what was that?"

"No, I'm fine, brother. But I shouldn't have touched that Seal." Logan sounded as if he was repressing the pain. Darius knew that expression well; he'd worn it himself oft times. Plus, his brother's fingertips had already turned a blazing hot-red. "As you have seen," continued Logan with a sarcastic smile, "my seal is of darkness. It was a foolish prospect to touch mother's seal, one I should have realised."

"But I've laid my hands on other Seals without problems," said Darius in anger. "Here, give me your Seal."

"Darius, you can't –"

"Now, brother!" he shouted. "As your King, I command you to hand it over."

Logan narrowed his gaze. "Very well," he conceded, and brought out the Black Seal once more. "But I was merely looking out for your health, let it be noted."

"Noted," Darius murmured.

Rather than graze his fingertips, Darius, sparing a second's apprehension, seized a hold of the Dark Seal…and it did nothing. No light, no shadows – nothing occurred, and that frightened Darius more than any other result.

"It would appear you've also been touched by darkness, brother." Logan sighed and cast his weary eyes over to the guards, who appeared not to have his whisper. "But I should leave you now. It is late and I think I have consumed enough of the palace's alcohol. My guards also seemed to have learned far too much far too much for their own good. Any more and their twitching will grow into actual action."

"Ah, yes, of course," said Darius, watching as his brother raised from the armchair. Darius' gaze turned to the guards, who actually looked pleased Logan wouldn't be in his brother's - the King's - presence no longer tonight. Darius rolled his eyes and peered up at his brother, "Goodnight, Logan."

"Night, Darius."

Rather than dress into his night attire once Logan departed his chambers, thoughts of how the darkness had touched him still plagued his mind. After an hour had passed, Darius knew he couldn't dwell in his bedroom any longer. Knowing that he could snatch up both a walk and two hundred coins by handing over Reaver's garments to Benjamina, he called for Walter. Snatching Reaver's unmentionables from his drawers and hiding them in his pockets, Darius watched as his old tutor entered his room.

Although reluctant, Walter agreed to watch over Tristan whilst Darius left Bowerstone on 'business'. Willing himself into Bowerstone's Market, he arrived at her house just before midnight and knocked. She came to the down, and seeing the undergarments, seized them from his grasp.

"Oh, here's the money, and a little extra for being such a good friend and sneaking in for me," she laughed, tossing him a purse of coins. "Thank you so much! Now I have the complete collection…"

The fan wandered back into her house, giggling and talking incessantly as she went. Darius just shook his head and pocketed the purse. Walking away, he pondered on her obsessive attitude toward Reaver. _She might have all those objects, but nothing beats the real Reaver._

/***\

A sharp knock came upon his door that night.

"Enter," he groaned sleepily.

The door clicked and a young servant girl, with her hair tied up in a bun, gazed in through a small open crack in the doorway. "Your Majesty, Master Reaver is here and has requested to meet with you in the war room," she said. "Shall I instruct him to come at a more appropriate time?"

"No…inform him that I'll only be a few moments," Darius replied, throwing off his bed-sheets. "Have him wait in war room until then."

_He can wait too,_ he thought, _it's about time he waited on me rather than have me coming to him. The arrogant sod…_

He dressed himself with care, not wanting to look as if he'd been in bed to any of the servants or other persons working at this late hour. With Rylin by his side, he departed from his chambers and made for the war room, hoping Reaver a good excuse for waking the King at nearing three in the morning.


	3. Of Discrepancies and Liberties

**Warnings**: Please be aware that this fan-fiction will contain profanities, sexual content, many bloody battles, some character deaths (although no one that the Fables series hadn't already killed off!), and an overly obsessive usage of semi-colons and 'big' words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fable series. This piece of fiction is being written for merely entertainment purposes.

Rated: **M!**

A/N: Can I just say how much I adore this title: so short, and yet so sweet. I shall try to update this story weekly, although it may be a few days out at time due to work. Anyway, I know this has been a long time coming, but here's some good ol' smutt. Yet, are such discrepancies worth the trouble that they cause the King? And how will Darius raise a fortune? All in good time, folks ;) 18/07/14: Chapter slightly edited after realising some parts were not up to scratch. Never say I'm not dedicated.

_Summary:__ The Shadows have a hold upon the King's son; they have ended their deal with the Pirate King; and their influence is growing within Albion's domain. As Darius builds up an Alliance against this oncoming attack in a year by the Shadows and Darkness, he cannot help but feel that some other force is out there. However, can the King even trust his companions in his time of need? __Fable III: Reaver/Prince._

**_When Shadows and Darkness Descend_**

**Chapter Three: Of Discrepancies and Liberties **

As Darius entered the war room, he instantly spotted Reaver, standing beside the map and gazing down upon its regions with heated eyes.

"Close the doors," he instructed directly, without so much as a glancing up from the map. "Make sure they are closed entirely, Your Majesty…we cannot have any common peeping Tom overhearing us."

Darius did he was asked, but frowned when he turned to see Reaver slowly approaching him.

"Reaver – what is this all about?" he asked pointedly.

"Show me your Seal again," he demanded, with his blue eyes aflame. "Show me it."

Darius unwrapped the Light Seal from his pocket and passed the strange rounded device into one of Reaver's outstretched hands.

Almost instantly, Reaver's mouth fell agape. A burst of light sparkled, and then shone from the Seal, attacking Reaver, whose body began to emit a shadowy mist, similar to that aura which had taken a hold of Tristan.

"Reaver!" shouted Darius, stepping forward and seized Reaver's shoulders with force.

The man was driven to his knees, groaning and trembling beneath Darius' hold. For the first few moments, Reaver's eyes remained squeezed shut and his lips pulled in, ceasing any more screams.

"Reaver – speak to me," Darius ordered sharply, shaking him. "_Tell me what to do!_"

He fell onto all fours, but practically collapsed onto his front as his palms were still gripping the Seal.

"Take it…from me," he gasped through gritted teeth. "Take it!"

Darius snatched the Light Seal from his hands and returned it swiftly to his pocket, leaving Reaver to collapse forwards onto his elbows and knees, panting. Darius dropped down to his knees and placed a cautious arm on his shoulder.

"Reaver," he murmured softly, "…are you all right?"

Reaver coughed, and stood to his feet with a weary, yet trained style of proficiency. His sweaty brow and slowing exhales were the only indicators of the previous incident.

Darius followed and stood as well, as Reaver began to speak again, though in a far gruffer tone than before.

"That is a Seal of Light, and it belongs to you, and only you," he informed. "It would seem that, as my Seal was given to me by the Shadows, yours was passed down, with not only your mother's wishes, but also with blessings from the Light."

"Why tell me this, Reaver?"

"Because it is they who would be best at protecting your son, my King. Tell no one about the Seals," he added, approaching Darius cautiously until his lips were beside his earlobe, "…I believe the Shadows are yet even now extracting the life force from your son. But if you would place your Seal around his neck, their hold may be broken."

"Fine, Reaver. We'll try it," said Darius, "but if anything happens to my son, I'll know exactly who to blame."

He scoffed. "Yes, yes, fire and brimstone, and all those other lovely tortures that you'll no doubt hound me with if anything were to happen to your darling _Tristan_ boy."

"At least you remember his name, that's something," murmured Darius, snorting lightly before turning to the doors. "But come on, then. Let's see if this Seal keeps the shadows away from my son."

Reaver clanked his cane against the metallic map, gaining his attention once more.

"There is one more thing, my King," he addressed. "This…protection, shall we call it, it will not last. The Shadows' strength _is_ increasing, if you recall me mentioning before –"

"Then I will seek out my mother's fabled Temple of Light, just as I found the Darkness in Aurora and how you sent me to the Court of Shadows in Wraithmarsh," said Darius. "I will find some way to gain protection for myself and my son, and when I have achieved that, then you may have your boon."

"The old Queen's Temple lies in ruins in a little dull haven known as Oakville, which is to the north. Her Majesty ventured there often, but I have personally only travelled that through that bug-infested, dull heathen once," said Reaver.

Darius nodded. "Then we shall go there, as soon as my absence can be allowed."

"One would almost think that you had a craving for adventuring," remarked Reaver. "Surely, Your Majesty, your kingly duties must keep you revitalised enough from such a trip?"

"I'm not sure revitalised would be the word I'd use," said Darius. "Hobson's humour is enough to dry any excitement away from my duties."

Reaver snickered. "Ah, that little trouncing trollop," he snickered. "Still, at least you have some hope in attaining your desired funding now. Hobson does have a gold-finger, or so I have been informed."

Shaking his head in silent laughter, Darius urged, "Come on, Reaver."

Curious eyes looked on as the industrialist followed the King into the Royal bedroom, and Darius was all too aware that there would be whisperers among the Court tomorrow.

Yet, gathering the Seal that hung on a necklace from his pocket, he ventured through to his son's room and stopped short. Leaning over Tristan's bed was a Shadow, which had seemingly intended on picking up the boy, before its evil form now decidedly turned to face Darius with a sneering laugh.

Instantly, Darius' hand launched to his hip, unsheathed the Black Dragon and fired a bullet into the Shadow's snarling mouth. The Shadow shrieked as its misty essence dispersed into thin, clear air.

Darius also noted that Reaver was standing quietly outside the room, just beyond the curtains that closed off Tristan's door to his own bedroom.

"They're trying to take my son," Darius stated, as he returned his gun to its holster. "Why now, of all times?"

"You are trying to guess the thoughts of the Shadow Judges?" tisked Reaver mockingly. "Perhaps they know of your Light Seal, perhaps they simply desire to have your son…there are countless reasons that could be imagined."

"Fine," grated Darius, "…don't be helpful, then. I was merely asking."

With slow movements, Darius delicately placed the necklace on his son's chest. The surrounding aura of shadowy greyness around Tristan began to clear. A woeful moan passed through his lips, his eyes squeezed shut and then flickered open, and his tiny fingers quivered above his blue blanket.

"He's awake," gasped Darius, his eyes trained on his son and following his movements. "He's actually awake," he repeated, although sounding more asserted this time.

"And no doubt, he shall again be weeping and spewing filth in no time," reminded Reaver, with a light sneer gracing his lips. "My, how pleasant youth can be."

Darius ignored him in favour of his son. "Gods, he must be starving," he whispered, before departing to order a servant to bring forth two bottles of milk from the kitchens with all quickness.

"Want to hold him, Reaver?" asked Darius.

Reaver chortled. "Your Highness, though I am certainly well versed in the art of _producing_ children, I have to my knowledge never sired one and I am certainly not a nursemaid, caring for any spit-spewing – ah, babes," he corrected swiftly, on seeing the King's heated glare.

Darius rolled his eyes. "Before Tristan, I would have agreed with that statement about myself, but then I came to care more for him than any woman or man in the kingdom," he said. "In any case, you've my thanks, Reaver, for giving me my son back."

A moment later and a knock came upon the bedroom doors. Darius retrieved the bottle from the young servant boy and returned to his son's chambers, where then he began feeding him in the armchair.

Later, allowing his son to sleep in the crib, Darius followed Reaver into his bedroom and towards the doors.

"Thank you for your aid, Reaver. I don't think I would have guessed soon enough to save him that the Seal serves as a protection," he said. "But I have to ask, where'd you learn all of this?"

Reaver leaned forward on his cane, smirking idly.

"Ah, I confess, I have known for some time now that Seals provide their bearers most profitable skills," he said. "My own Seal, as I have learned over the course of my long and exciting life, has the tendency to assist me in deceiving others, but at the cost…of losing one's self, may we say. If you recall, it was the Shadow Judges who inflicted it upon me."

"Wait…was that what happened in the cellar beneath the whorehouse, then?" asked Darius, stepping forward. Reaver stood up from his cane, his eyes sharply narrowing, but Darius pressed on, "You lost yourself to the Seal, didn't you?"

"The woman was lax in noticing my presence, yes," he growled.

"Okay, but I'm not asking about her, Reaver," he said. "I'm asking if you lost _yourself_, because you looked like you wanted to shoot me. Hell, you shot one of the owner's girls on your way out."

Reaver chuckled. "Oh, well I never realised that every time I have killed I was in fact claimed by some mystical Seal of power. My, that does sound like a good excuse…a tad eccentric, but what isn't every little thing in this day and age?"

Darius snorted, and approached him further, to jab a finger into Reaver's perfectly white-coated chest.

He gazed up. "I'm not saying the Seal influenced you when shooting the whore," he seethed, becoming irritated by Reaver's evasion. "What I'm saying is that, down in the cellar when Formosa was attacking us, you lost control."

Reaver's lips snarled. "I was mistaken in telling you…I never lose control," he spat.

A daring look adorned Reaver's eyes, and Darius seized him by the shoulders and shoved him against the door. Reaver laughed as the door creaked against its hinges, and Darius stepped forward.

A seething rage enveloped his heart, a want for answers from the man who would never willingly give them.

"You were surrounded by a shadowy aura, Reaver," he growled, pocking a finger into his chest again. "It was like you were becoming a shadow itself! You may not admit it, but I know it to be true."

Reaver seized the King by his upper arms and span them, shoving Darius into the doors. Darius' vision blurred as his head bumped against the wood, and he grunted.

As Reaver stepped angrily forwards to press against him, their bodies – chests and thighs – touched, and whether accidentally or not, Reaver's presence overwhelmed his very senses.

"You know nothing about me," spat Reaver darkly.

Darius wanted to reply. He wanted to fight, but instead, he groaned and thumped his head back against the door. It was too much – Reaver's breath on his neck, given that the blasted man was a few inches taller than him, and how he could even feel the slightest press of Reaver's hardened cock between his muscled thighs.

"I know more than you think," he mouthed, daringly against Reaver's neck.

Perhaps it was simply his imagination, but Darius swore that Reaver's hips jutted forwards. Reaver tightened his grip on his forearms and leaned forwards.

He hummed lightly. "Why, is this how you address all your humble subjects, Your Majesty?" Reaver taunted, snickering and chest rumbling at the movement. "

Darius scowled.

"Shut up, Reaver."

The man didn't have time to retort – Darius didn't let him. Pulling Reaver forward by the shoulders, Darius attacked his lips. He bit savagely at his lower lip before kissing him full on, and was only a tad surprised when Reaver's lips began to brush heatedly in turn against his own.

Their hands moved from pressing against each other's chests and shoulders to gain stronger holds and seek out skin. Darius diverted a hand to clutch at the back of his neck, caressing the pale skin. His hair was so soft – softer than Darius could recall from their time on the ship.

Thoughts of their previous encounter ran through his mind, and Darius groaned. Slowly, Reaver had slipped his fingers under the collar of his shirt, and now was running them across his skin. His other hand was playing dangerously against his hip; his thumb stroking idly over clothed skin.

"Always so tense, my King," he whispered against his ear.

Trapped between the wall and Reaver's muscled form pressing against him, his control gradually slipped from him. But the anger remained, an abating maddening rage to know Reaver.

"I will get –" a brush of the lips "– the truth from you, Reaver," growled Darius, and shoved the man away, causing him to stumble back in the direction towards the bed. "The shadows have a hold upon you, too. That aura and your Seal made it clear."

"Oh, one could almost imagine that you cared from that remark," Reaver chuckled, as Darius stepped forward and ran a finger over Reaver's swollen lips.

That remark almost caught Darius off guard, but he was rarely caught off these days; and besides, he didn't care for Reaver. His mind, overrun by the image of Reaver standing so tantalisingly in front of him, shirt ripped, hair messed and red-lipped, could hardly grasp anything more than pure lust.

Darius scoffed, and trailed his finger from Reaver's lips down to pock at his chest.

"Don't _imagine_ things that don't exist, Reaver," he retorted, though the sentiment seemed half-true even to him. "I'm merely thinking about how their hold on you will affect us all in the long run."

Reaver's hand seized his clothed cock and squeezed, and Darius keeled and grabbed hold of Reaver's shoulder to keep his balance.

"The Shadows are not influencing my actions now, my King," he chuckled, "…nor will they ever."

"Arrogant bastard," breathed Darius.

They kissed furiously, hands frolicking across each other's bodies, caressing and scraping, until Darius became impatient. As he caressed the smooth, pale skin of Reaver's hipbone, imagining in some other circumstance that he could bite the muscled area, he banished the possessive thought away and began to unlace Reaver's trousers, with his hand brushing over Reaver's cock.

Reaver groaned, and shoved Darius by the arms to stumble, with his back thumping and head banging against a wooden bedpost. Reaver strode forwards and his lips nipped at Darius' lips before proceeding south, biting and kissing about his jaw and neck, whilst his hands stealthily unlaced Darius' trousers.

They came loose, and Reaver chuckled hoarsely. It seemed his voice had grown deeper, rougher, in the passing few moments.

"Tut, tut. No undies beneath, how very ill-bred of you," he said.

"You came here at three in the morning, Reaver," he rebuked, as the man's hand seized his swollen cock, "…what did you bloody expect – a ruddy dress show? I hardly think any of my companions, especially Ben Finn, would've respected such an idea. Likely would've laughed."

Reaver hummed against his neck. His breathy chuckles caused Darius to shiver.

"Well, whilst I simply delight in such a show of patriarchy, I'd loath to share such an exhibition," he seethed darkly. "And I digress from the opportunity that has been so exquisitely presented here…"

Reaver's hands left his laces and ripped the shirt, with buttons flying, from Darius' shoulders. Reaver immediately made for his left nipple, taking it softly between his teeth to bite and lick.

"Mine," he whispered, so softly that Darius thought he'd imagined the caressing tone.

Darius groaned, and panted out, "What did you say?"

Reaver ignored him. His lips then moved to bite and caress his right nipple, and Darius' frown instantly turned into a moan that echoed across the very bedroom. Yet weary of his son in the adjoining room, he experienced a momentary lapse of embarrassment.

But Reaver's hands moved to grip his clothed arse, and any discomfort hence fled from him. Darius ran his hands through Reaver's hair and tugged him upwards, kissing him unwaveringly.

"Taking too long," he growled.

Darius pulled Reaver's shirt from him, throwing it to the ground and kissed at his neck. He caressed the man's arms, feeling the flexed muscles beneath before shoving him hard onto the bed.

Reaver huffed, but Darius crawled over him, kissing his flat stomach. Cock straining in his trousers, Darius daringly bit the Hero of Skill's left hipbone. The man jutted up beneath him, groaning, and caught his neck with a gripping palm.

"I am becoming impatient man, Your Majesty," he seethed.

Purposeful or not, Darius bit down on his lips as Reaver grabbed a firm hold of his dick and pulled gently. He returned the gesture swiftly, sweeping Reaver's trousers down his legs, unwilling to allow Reaver to wank him without returning the deed.

He had only seen Reaver's dick once before, and now, red and angry from a lack of touch, but smooth to his palm, Darius thought it certainly a mouth-watering sight. He thrust the organ hard in his palm, wanting to see Reaver undone beneath him.

The Hero of Skill groaned when Darius adjusted his grip. His cock was pulsing in Reaver's hand, but the man wouldn't go faster. He keened above Reaver, thighs tensing and relaxing, eyes watering, and yet still Reaver wouldn't quicken his pace.

"Reaver, no, you bastard – _faster_!"

"As His Majesty commands," came his smug reply.

Reaver's hand ripped the orgasm from him. Darius viciously squeezed his bottom lip between his teeth, knowing that blood would likely be drawn but unwilling to say Reaver's name. He quickened his hand, squeezing tightly, and Reaver came halfway into Darius' own orgasm and pulled him down to meet to meet his lips in a violent kiss.

Darius fell to lie upon Reaver' chest from exhaustion and sensual overload. Reaver snickered at the King's behaviour, but glaring up, Darius' blue eyes silenced him. They lay there; Reaver moved his hands beneath his head to take on a more relaxed posture, but only after for some moments more did Darius then sit up and stare down at the Hero of Skill.

"You should leave," Darius whispered, despite his hands were still idly drawing invisible patterns on Reaver's arms. "The sun shall be rising soon, and my servants will be here."

Reaver frowned beneath him.

"And what if I requested another round with His Majesty?" he prodded, with a small smirk replacing the momentary uncertain look. "Would you refuse me such?"

"This cannot lead to what you want, Reaver," said Darius. "You stand to gain from our deal anyway. Unless you seek to wed your King, however, and I won't have anyone who is not monogamous, if not for my kingdom then for having a past of cheating exes, then this cannot continue."

"What if I did desire to propose to you, what you say?"

"Then I would inform you that you're inane," said Darius, turning his head from Reaver's chest to look up. "You despise children, you dislike my companions, and your only honourable trait is that you are capable of providing aid, although that's only when it suits you."

He snorted. "Perhaps you are right…perhaps."

Ignoring Reaver's relaxed form, Darius rose from the bed. Using the washbasin on the bedside table, he cleaned himself as Reaver lay idly upon the bed, staring with his sinfully blue eyes. Grinning, Darius playfully flung the wet cloth across onto Reaver's chest, splattering droplets across him and the bed.

Darius' breath hitched as Reaver's eyebrow perked. Were it not for the dirty cloth, his posture seemed almost godly. Turning, Darius went to organise himself some clothes.

But no sooner had he turned then Reaver approached him, with his wet chest and cock pressing against his back.

Lips kissed his neck; hands ran over his hips; and, to his surprise, Reaver caught his face with the wet cloth, dragging it across and laughing behind him. Reaver stepped away as Darius turned, wet-faced, narrow-eyed, and holding the cloth between his fingers.

It was some minutes, and only after a second round of playful revenge and heated kissing, before the men dressed themselves. Darius returned Reaver's black shirt and trousers that he had kept since the incident on the ship, and Reaver dressed himself with some haste.

Wrapping the pyjama cord around his waist, Darius observed Reaver as he pulled on his boots. The air had grown tense in the silence; forgoing questioning Reaver once more, Darius settled onto the bed and watched Reaver walk towards the doors.

"I'm sure I don't have to show you the way out of the castle," said Darius, "…or do I?"

"No, Your Majesty. I bid you a pleasant night," he murmured stoically.

"Yes," he whispered, "…and to you, Reaver."

Reaver departed swiftly from the room, with a solemn bow and his cane clicking against the carpet, as if his intentions were to escape. Darius closed the doors and leaned against them. He still felt Reaver's breath against his neck, the lasting hot touch of the man's lips on his, and the muscled chest that had lain against him on the bed.

Darius called for a bath. It would be late into the night by now, but hopefully the calming sensations of the warm water might relax his yet still heightened and wanton senses.

/***\

The following morning, awake before the attending servant came to change his camber pot and gather his unclean clothes from yesterday, Darius fed his son again. He hadn't dared to let him out of his sight since Reaver's late night visitation.

He couldn't regret what had happened last night, for his mind continued to replay Reaver's breaths and gasps, but Darius knew that anything more was unlikely to happen. Reaver wasn't the committed type for long relationships, and Darius had enough of them in the past two years. Also, a large aspect of his life revolved around Tristan, and anyone Darius decided on having in his life permanently would have to like children.

Thus, Darius tossed Reaver from his mind. He had enjoyed their night together, but Darius didn't want anything more from him.

Rather than contemplate their night together further, Darius swiftly dressed himself the next morning and departed for the war room, in seek of speaking to Hobson.

"You know, it almost breaks one's heart to see the Treasury so empty," remarked Hobson curtly, as Darius entered the Treasury. "If we do not fill it soon, we shall all die, and I have some very definitive retirement plans."

"Yes, well…I shall be donating some of my own wealth today," said Darius. "I've plenty enough and I would hardly be able to spend it if Albion is overcome by this coming evil now, will I?"

"You are the eon of benevolence," complimented Hobson, though perhaps more out of politeness than agreement. His smile turned into a slight toothy grin, "But one must ask, does His Majesty intend upon marrying sometime during this coming year? There have been rumours plaguing the Court all morning about a certain Reaver…"

"Hobson, when I desire your advice on things other than the financial issues of the kingdom, I shall ask for it," snapped Darius. "For now, keep your opinions to yourself."

"A spouse would raise moral, Your Majesty," advised Hobson.

"No…no, absolutely no marriage shall be happening anytime soon," said Darius.

Hobson nodded. "As you wish, my King, but personal mistakes will affect the people," he pointed out obstinately. "Remember, they trust the royalty to always act on their behalf. Any _discrepancies_ on your part shall undermine your influential weight as a leader."

Darius sighed. "Understood, Hobson. Just get to the agenda for today."

The Advisor's grin slipped from his face with a momentary cough, and he pressed on.

"Although that we have discussed the prospect of marriage, there is still the matter of our second task for today to discuss, as the Royal Guard Budget must be decided upon," he instructed, "…and you have three options. You can raise the budget, increasing the people of Albion's safety but spending a rather considerable large sum from the Treasury; keep Logan's policies, which would no doubt cause the high theft rates to persist but allow our Treasury to remain unchanged; or simply, you could lower the Guard Budget, for what is the point of peace among the populace when we are faced with certain annihilation in the coming year?"

Hobson handed the King a parchment of paper, which had all the financial details of how each option would affect the Treasury.

Currently, they held only a rudimentary sum of 300, 000 in the Treasury. By increasing or decreasing this year's Guard Budget, they would either gain 200, 000 or lose 200, 000. The sums made Darius' head spin at their vast amounts and possible consequences, but after minutes of thoughtful pondering he managed to finally arrive at a decision.

"The people are in need of a raise in morale, you say – increase the guards, then," responded Darius. "I am sick myself of running into mercenaries all the time."

"Your Majesty, by decreasing the Treasury, we will only have 100, 000 of the kingdom's wealth left," remarked Hobson, whose bottom lip was plumping out prudently. "The people may be delighted, but will they thank you when they are dead? Unless we all turn into some form of foul mutation…oh, that won't be what will happen, will it?"

Darius scoffed. "No, Hobson, I'm pretty sure that won't happen. And as to our wealth decreasing," he continued, "after I am done donating with the royal financial legislature, this Treasury will be more overflowing than before. Now…if you will leave me to do so, I would be much obliged, Hobson."

"Of course," he murmured, with a low bow. His eyes were positively gleaming at the aspect of more gold now. "I shall be awaiting to press on with our agenda in the war room, my King."

Hobson left, and Darius leaned over the legislature to think how much he believed would be adequate to add to the Treasury at the present moment. After a few moments, and deciding that much would be needed for the coming week, he deposited a large amount and closed the book.

Calling for Hobson, the imp-ish man returned obediently, with the daily schedule list at hand. Darius took it once more and read the second item, which simply read as: 'Decorating the Castle'.

"As you can see, you have a busy day in the court, but a tremendously enjoyable one," said Hobson. "Decoration is a passion of mine, and I simply cannot wait to see your choice. The interior designers await your arrival in the throne room."

The day drew on lazily, with Darius spending much of his time on the royal throne. Compared to the adventuring he partook in each day before becoming King, this was quite easy.

But came the afternoon, Darius received an unplanned guest. It was Kalin, and she seemed slightly perkier than before, and with Reaver following closely behind on her. Whispers surged among the gathered citizens of the court as the two approached and stood at either ends of the throne.

"You may speak," addressed Darius politely.

"I have come to discuss the fate of my people, the Auroran people, Your Highness," said Kalin. "I am here to seek the protection that you promised."

Reaver chuckled. "And I have adorned myself here to dispute this supposed promise, providing Albion with a more profitable solution."

"You may each state your proposals, and then the King shall make his decision," announced Walter, more formally to the court. "Kalin, you may begin with your case; Reaver shall then dispute it."

"Too long have the Auroran people faced the darkness alone, without aid," voiced Kalin. "We were honoured to join your fight to claim Albion, but now it is time that we joined your kingdom. Do what your brother failed to do. Help us to rebuild Aurora, and protect as you would your own land."

Reaver hummed. "There is nothing so noble as embracing other cultures, and I for one would only be too happy to count Aurora as part of Albion," he motioned pleasantly, although with his voice laced with an indifferent business tone.

Were he to forgo formality, Darius could have snorted.

"But surely they must work for the privilege, and I happen to know how to put them to good service," said Reaver. There is an Auroran mine in the abandoned desert that holds enough materials to benefit the whole kingdom. So, let us employ Kalin and her people to gather what resources there may be – that can be their payment."

Kalin's fists clenched and her head turned to Reaver.

"You are talking about forced labour!" she seethed.

Reaver waved a dismissive arm. "Well, let us not get bogged down in semantics now. It is a fair transaction."

Enflamed, Kalin seemed about to attack the man.

"I know you will not break your oath. You have seen what we have been through," she pleaded. "Do not turn your back on us now, Your Majesty – we need your aid to survive."

Walter sighed. "The choice is yours, Your Majesty," he concurred.

"I will keep my promise," declared Darius. "Aurora will become part of Albion, and its people will be our equals in every way."

"The King has spoken," announced Walter, turning towards the court. "Aurora shall be rebuilt, and it's people shall have equality

Kalin bowed low, and smiled until her tattooed cheeks were seemingly blushing.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. You have proven to be a man of honour, and Aurora is proud to stand at your side."

"The court shall now rest," motioned Walter.

"A most brave decision, Your Majesty. Aurora might have proven to be a profitable resource, but I am sure we shall find other ways to fill our pockets," said Hobson.

Darius simply shook his head. He was tired of hearing petitions to the crown and didn't really want to argue his actions with others. In fact, he wanted an adventure; he needed to find the Temple of Light. The idea had plagued his mind all morning, but could he truly leave the crown behind?

"Hobson, if I were on business, who would be my appointed regent?"

"Why, the court, Your Majesty," answered Hobson. "When your brother was away on business, the task fell to the court to judge, with Reaver's suggestions being accounted for of course. After all, he is the leading man for financial industries of today."

"Right, of course he is," remarked Darius hotly. "Well, I shall be embarking on an expedition shortly, and Reaver, Logan and Ben will be all coming with me. Walter, Page and you, Hobson, will govern in my absence."

Hobson bowed low.

"You Majesty," he said, "it is an honour."

Darius snorted. "Well, I have no doubt that – together – you can act as my Council whilst I am away. Page can act as a voice for the people, Walter as a Commander over Albion's Army, and you through your role as Royal Advisor to the Treasury. Any agreements made must be signed by you all."

"Perfectly understood," Hobson replied, "…and will you be making your expedition sometime soon perhaps, may one ask? All for our daily agenda's sake, of course, since I shouldn't like to overlap any important personal duty of your noble King's. "

"Within the next few passing days, Hobson. I intend upon leaving as soon as I have notified Logan, Ben and Reaver, and also packed my son's things," he answered, and continued upon seeing Hobson perk up an interested eyebrow. "Yes, my son shall be travelling with me again. I am not sure if you have heard, but he is awake and I am taking him outside the castle for a while."

Hobson nodded eagerly. "Why, Your Majesty, your charming son is the talk among the citizens today, you know, and they are so very glad that he has awoken…none too soon after Master Reaver's visit, of course."

Darius opened his mouth to retort, but a fierce knock came upon the war room's doors. Forgoing his anger, he turned and called out, "Enter."

A serving boy, dressed in waiting clothes of a white apron and simple brown garments, entered the room. He seemed anxious, and Darius couldn't quite recall ever seeing the lad before. He was likely new to the job.

"Your Majesty, your brother – err – Prince – Logan – he has requested your presence in his rooms," stumbled the servant. "The guards won't let him leave to speak with you."

Darius scowled. Although he had requested that guards were to be placed on observing his brother, and even physically restraining him if necessary, Logan had been in no way restricted by

"Then let us arrive to the point, shall we? I understand that you are having relations with my former Industrial Advisor," said Logan. "Tell me, did you plan, brother, on keeping this to yourself and away from the Court or did you simply not care if the truth came out?"

Darius scowled heatedly at his elder brother.

"Guards – both of you, leave now," he growled.

"But, Sire," a guard protested, "you're not safe –"

"I am quite capable of defending myself!" he hollered, causing them to wince. "Or do you still yet not know how to follow the King's orders? Leave us!"

The guards skirted out of the room, running with their swords loosely gripped in their hands. Were it not for the situation, Darius could have found the sight amusing. But he was not amused, far from it.

The doors slammed shut behind them; and the metal hinges rattled, though Darius ignored the sound. He turned back to Logan, still scowling furiously.

"Listen, brother, I think you hardly get a say in my personal affairs when you threatened to kill Elise, my only friend outside of this blasted castle, a few years ago," he challenged. "And my dealings with Reaver won't affect my duties as King, of that you can well be assured of."

Logan scoffed. "Do you think the public will think the same thing? They'll imagine that Reaver has manipulated their King through getting him into bed –"

"My decisions have not supported Reaver's side thus far!" shouted Darius. "Is this simply all about politics, Logan, or your hate hearing of my intimacy of him?"

"I do not trust him, and neither should you," he grated.

Darius snorted. "Of course I don't trust him fully. But then, neither do I with you or anyone else. But I do trust Reaver's desire to keep his wealth and status, and I can suede him through that."

Logan nodded in understanding, although it was clear that he wasn't wholly content. A silence passed between them, edgy and tense until Logan coughed.

"I still do not enjoy hearing rumours about the servants of your…couplings at night with Reaver," he said. "Tell me, how long has this even been going on?"

"We are not in a relationship of any sort, if that is what you're imagining," Darius retorted, stepping back with crossed arms. "And last night, he came to me with information about my Seal of Light. It was because of him that Tristan is now awake…the Seal acts as a form of protection, I do not know why, but I intend on finding out."

Darius declined to inform Logan that Reaver had a Seal of the Shadows; it wasn't likely that he would take information well, after all.

"And where would you discover your answers?" "Why not allow your Seal to simply protect Tristan?"

"Tristan wears the Seal around his neck and Reaver informs me that this protection cannot last," Darius said. "I intend on seeking a more permanent protection for Tristan, and even aid from the Light against the coming Shadows and Darkness, by travelling to the Temple of Light in Oakvale, a five day's trip to the North from here."

"And when shall you be departing, then? Will you be going alone?"

"You, Captain Finn and Reaver are coming with me, Logan, and we'll be departing with for Oakvale in two days if I have my way amongst the court," he informed. "So, just make sure to pack your bags and be ready to leave by then."

Logan frowned, his dark eyebrows narrowing lightly.

"Fine, I now understand your desire to venture on this trip, brother. But why would you have Reaver journey with us? As Albion's most significant industrial owner, surely he is better suited to remain here."

_Because I want him to travel with us – and he has a Seal of his own, as well, _Darius thought idly.

"Because, believe it or not, Reaver is a Hero as well," Darius instead replied, "and I don't know what we'll meet in Oakvale. The temple of Light is in ruins there, and I want as much help as I can gather if we're going to seek out this fabled Light."

_Plus, I doubt I could stand the trip alone with you,_ he added mentally.

"Then…I will make sure to pack the essentials," he murmured lightly. "Yet what of the Black Seal, my own? I wouldn't like for the any to take something that came from the Darkness…"

"Yes, make sure you take it with you," he answered briskly, "…at any rate, your Seal might come to be useful." Darius stepped towards the doors, "If that is all Logan, then goodnight."

Logan nodded. "Yes, goodnight."

Darius retreated from the room, ordering the guards who had flown from the room to return to their posts outside Logan's room. He couldn't fault them; they were merely doing their duty, despite that they had questioned their King.

Running a hand through his hair, Darius sighed and made for his bedroom. Tomorrow, he would have to discuss his plans to travel to Oakvale with his anointed Council (Finn, Walter, Kalin, etc), as well as state that Walter, Page and Hobson would rule for the short period of his departure. Indeed, it was sure to be a tiring day for them all tomorrow.


	4. Oakfield

**Warnings**: Please be aware that this fan-fiction will contain profanities, sexual content, many bloody battles, some character deaths (although no one that the Fables series hadn't already killed off!), and an overly obsessive usage of semi-colons and 'big' words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fable series. This piece of fiction is being written for merely entertainment purposes.

Rated: **M!**

A/N: Okay, so the Crawler is the bringer of darkness, a supposed unstoppable being, right? So why is it that we know next to nothing about this darkness? In any case, I'm sorry about the wait, but I hope this satisfies readers; I certainly had fun writing the nightmare. Also, the reason Reaver acted the way he did, dwelling over marriage and whatnot in the previous chapter, shall be soon revealed. Do enjoy…

_Summary: The Shadows have a hold upon the King's son; they have ended their deal with the Pirate King; and their influence is growing within Albion's domain. As Darius builds up an Alliance against this oncoming attack in a year by the Shadows and Darkness, he cannot help but feel that some other force is out there. However, can the King even trust his companions in his time of need? Fable III: Reaver/Prince._

**When Shadows and Darkness Descend**

**Chapter Four: Oakfield**

_He reloaded the Black Dragon pistol and fired repeatedly again. Descending in all around him, the Shadows were hollering and crying out with laughter. When two fell, others replaced them, their black auras as equally shourded as the last._

_Tiring and dressed in a dirty plain shirt, pants, and boots, every inch of him felt scrapped and worn. One of the Shadows had managed to bury their sword into his left arm; the slice the sword had left burned, as if melted oil was continuously being poured into the wound whenever he moved. It was deep, and Darius struggled to hold the torch in his hand._

_The Crawler's tunnel-black eyes dawned on him from above. It was watching, always watching._

_Then the creature moved so swiftly that Darius couldn't keep sight of it for no more than a single moment. His attention was forced to return to the beckoning Shadows, but that hardly stopped him from voicing his irritation - which he had done. _

"_Coward," he cried feverishly. He fired off another set of bullets, striking the shadowy creatures in their chests and heads. They dissipated into wisps, but more fiends strode forwards. "Come on - show yourself!"_

"_Your world will turn to black, Hero," came the Crawler's sickeningly deep voice. "I am darkness itself – darkness incarnate!"_

"_You're just an ugly, foul monster, and one who talks too much!" Darius shouted. _

_The Crawler roared. From the Shadows, he pounced onto a nearby stone ledge in the cave._

"_I am the monster in the deep blackness of eternity, I am the creature that men see when they perish, and all fear me in the pits of their hearts," he raved with anger. "Even you, Hero, shall fear me…"_

"_I fear nothing!"_

"_All beings fear death's dark void," grated the Crawler, "My minions shall bring the world to their deaths, and you - you shall be its starring knight."_

_Darius fired his gun. The Crawler dissipated into the dusty air, only to reappear before his eyes in a hurling cloud of black mist, causing his torch to whither._

"_Neither Light nor Shadow may stop my dark reign over the lands," he whispered, his black eyes hauntingly stared into Darius'. "Cower, King of Albion, for darkness has already touched your soul – none of whom you know shall survive my coming wrath."_

"_I won't see Albion fall to you, monster," he growled._

"_Then perish – delve into thine own darkness, Hero!"_

_Shadows approached in thick hordes, so dense their numbers that Darius couldn't see between them. The Crawler hollered out a cruel laugh before he blew out Darius' torch and jumped with his flightless body onto the ledge above him._

_Darius fired again and again, reloading speedily but not enough. The Black Dragon pistol was knocked from his hands, and as he attempted to grab the sword from his back, a Shadow pushed his back and he fell to his knees. They crowded around him, laughing, swiping at his body with their swords and claws, and Darius bit his bottom lip in anger and tasted blood. As he looked up, the face of a Shadow - eyes black and glowing - ._

"_Give up, human!" it hissed. "Surrender to your own darkness."_

"_Never," he whispered. "I'll never give up."_

_"Then you'll die!"_

_Darius felt the tip of a sword touch against the hairs on his neck. He tensed and looked back, only to watch in terror as a shining, red-hilted sword, Reaver's sword (the one they had so violently rescued from his mansion), came spirling down towards his neck._

A monstrous, thundering noise awoke him from his nightmare. Darius blinked once, and realising that he was back in his room, leapt from his bed in a quiet panic. Sweat clung to his body; his brown fringe lay pasted against his skin; and, after a moment of panting wildly, he registered the sound of crying in the next room.

Racing towards Tristan's room, Darius released of breath of relief from his lungs when seeing that his son was wide-awake and demanding attention. Darius carried his ten-month old boy into his bedroom and sat upon his bed, rocking his son idly in his arms.

Thunder from outside the windows wracked the room. Darius leapt to his feet, lying Tristan against his chest as he pulled back the curtains to peer outside. Rain was hurtling down in waves upon the castle's gardens and Darius sighed. No doubt, he wouldn't be able to walk outside come the daylight, not if he desired the bottoms of his trousers to become soaked through. Although, it was likely that he wouldn't have a single moment to himself anyway, since his schedule would notably take up most of his day.

Fortunately, Tristan settled in naught but a half hour later, falling asleep once more after downing a good bit of milk from a small bottle. Darius hoped that the Crawler hadn't reached his son's dreams as well; if apparently only his own soul was touched by darkness, then hopefully the darkness would longer affect his son.

Perhaps the storm had awoken Tristan? Or had Darius talked in his sleep? Whatever the cause, Darius laid his sleeping son back down into his crib and returned to his own bed. But sleep evaded him that night, as the storm wracked on, and he tossed and turned in his bed. As the hour of the Dread Wolf, four o'clock, passed on, when Darius could hear only the thumping of his own heart amid the silence around him, he knew he wouldn't sleep that night.

Thus, rather than linger further to listen to his own heartbeats, he dragged himself from his room, dressed in a robe and a pair of fine boots, to the library and began to read. If he and his companions were to stand any chance in finding the lost temple of Light in Oakfield, then Darius knew that they would need all the information they could possibly gather.

He searched for many hours, scouring through letters about the darkness and epigraphs over the deaths caused by the Crawler, but on searching under the name of Albert the Light, after recalling an old tale by Walter in his youth about the holy man, he found a book called the Temple of Light.

It's inner first page read as thus:

_In a time when most of Albion's citizens had been happy to live secular lives following the decline of the old gods Avo and Skorm, now discredited by science and common sense, a man by the name of Albert wandered the land in spiritual despair, seeking answers that did not seem to exist anymore._

_He finally reached the town of Oakfield, an impoverished region where nothing grew but disease, and decided he'd seen enough of this world. He entered a cave, prepared to walk in darkness until he fell dead. Instead he reached a chamber deep in the cave and was suddenly bathed in a brilliant shaft of Light. The Light spoke to him, it filled him with a blissful serenity and it taught him the path._

_Albert the Luminous left the cave holding the Golden Oak. As soon as he planted it, the clouds parted and the sun shone down upon Oakfield._

_The land was filled with life, and its people saved. The Temple was erected shortly after, and both local farmers and people from afar flocked to join Albert's new gentle faith._

The tale then followed with the analytical thoughts of men who had attempted to fathom the meaning behind the tale. One monk believed Albert had resided in the town of Oakfield until his untimely death, becoming joined with the light upon his passing, and thus the tale signified the ultimate powers of the light. A literate farmer, who had supposedly been read stories from birth, believed that Albert had been but a Hero with a hobby for farming.

By the dawn, and after drinking a conspicuous amount of scotch, Darius found himself liking the more reasonable notion – that Albert the Luminous, a madman and a drunken, had discovered and planted a seed that was immune to disease and had been celebrated for this wondrous seed. But then, nothing was ever simple in Albion these days, was it?

/***\

A tired, hung-over King sat upon the throne, his chin lying in an open palm and his other hand lazily draped over a thigh. He wanted desperately to return to his room and rest, but there were much needed announcements to make to his people.

Originating from Mourningwood and dressed in the usual downplayed style of mud and rags, Mr String represented the people's will against the rising number of factories in Bowerstone and its surrounding areas. According to his reports and statements, the smog in Bowerstone was becoming unbearable.

Their arguments had lasted for over an hour; and Darius cared for Bowerstone, he admittedly cared a lot, but his mind couldn't remain interested. For the life of him, he couldn't understand how Reaver or the little Mr String seemed interested still.

"If you walked along our lanes, you'd know the smog that we face each day," he spat.

But Reaver merely snickered. "Oh, how you cretins must frolick with all your free time to walk about your dreary lanes. I daresay that if I choose to walk everywhere, I'd be late for all my meetings," he retorted, before turning to His Majesty. "This smog is hardly of dire importance, Your Highness."

Forgoing the desire to bring two fingers to the bridge of his nose in irritation, Darius tensed his arms in the throne. He coughed, and held up a hand.

"I have made a decision," he called over them, bringing the whispering voices of the crowd to silence. "The factories shall be built, and that is the end of the matter!"

"Ah, thank you, Your Majesty," said Reaver, with a respectful bow and a smile. "It is good to know that sensibility still rests in the thoughts over our nation's industrial growth."

"Your Royal One, the pollution –"

Darius's lips bristled. Of all the men to represent the matter on pollution, he had to have a man who couldn't compromise or respect the King's final word.

"The new law enforced this morning has settled this matter, Mr String," he grated. "As long as Reaver and other industrial owners keep to his law, which regulates that no man shall work for more than ten hours a day, the pollution rate should be reduced. The matter of the Bowerstone's smog shall be looked into more carefully, however, understand know that we cannot cease factory growth, not when we face an upcoming attack in but a year's time."

Mr. String grunted in acknowledgement, though by his narrowed brow he was still evidently displeased.

"I understand, sire," he murmured gruffly.

"The crown has made its decision," declared Walter loudly to the audience. "Until the King's return, any petitions from this day forth shall be pitched to the ears of the King's Court, to either myself as Military Advisor, Page as Advisor to the people, or to Hobson as the Royal Financial Advisor. Thank you for your presence, and court is now dismissed for the day."

As people began to retreat from the throne room in packs, Reaver stepped from his position as Disputer to stride up the steps towards Darius.

"I shall have the new factories built today, Your Majesty," he addressed quite formally, with a low bow. Darius knew that all his bowing was more for the departing crowds than for his own respect; yet still, it was endearing to see Reaver's googles upon his hat almost slipping off. "Your troops shall have the finest weaponry in all of Albion. No thing is too well-made for his Royal Highness, particularly during such dire times."

"Thank you, Master Reaver," Darius acknowledged, with a slight nod and a rising warmth at the cheeks, since conversations with Reaver over weaponry always seemed to remind him of their prior talks (and actions) in Reaver's ship's hold. "It is very good of you to keep in mind Albion's troubles. But may I have a private word in your ear?"

Reaver nodded, and tapped his cane with a smile. "Whatever His Majesty wishes," he said.

Darius stepped up from his throne, and Reaver followed him over to the back-right corner of the throne room, where their voices hopefully wouldn't be overheard. Behind the pillar, the King watched as the last of the crowd left through the doors, leaving only himself, his Court and a few stationed guards.

However, despite the informality now, Reaver stood with all grace and pretense as before.

"May I say, you do look awfully tired this morning, Your Highness. A late night rendezvous perhaps?" asked Reaver, with a deceptive smile.

"No, and I'm fine, Reaver," answered Darius, shrugging off Reaver's raising brow. Whether Reaver was seeking to know if the King had other lovers or had merely a bad night's sleep, Darius didn't know. He never did know with Reaver. "Let's just get down to business, Reaver – I'm in no mood for small talk."

"Very well, Your Majesty, what is your will?"

"Do you recall our deal two nights last?"

"Of course. We came to a most invigorating settlement, did we not?"

Darius urged himself not to scowl or grin at the memory of just how their deal had ended. Reaver certainly had a way of making one lose focus on the situation.

"I'm glad you remember," he whispered, noting how Reaver's grin widened slightly, "because I shan't have to remind you then of your promise to accompany me and my companions to the Temple of Light in Oakfield. As you heard with my announcement, I plan for us to set out tomorrow eve. We shall be taking your ship again, if that is agreeable?"

Reaver nodded; his grin remained despite the demand, surprisingly.

"It is," he answered.

"Good; then we can meet at Bowerstone's docks, only not under the illusion of darkness and false names this time," said Darius. He chuckled at the memory of when they boarded his ship, frightening the crew with Reaver's speech, but then sighed. "Make sure to meet us at around three and ready to make sail, Reaver."

"And if I had not a ship at the ready to take His Majesty? If I said that I had important business in the city tomorrow," scorned Reaver, yet with curious eyes, "…what would you have done, then?"

"I would leave without you, Reaver," Darius remarked coolly, his eyes locking with Reaver's despite knowing that Hobson, Walter and Ben were watching intently. He was only thankful that Page wasn't at the castle this morning; since Ben had informed her of his escapades with Reaver, no doubt their talks would impress her wrongly. Still, Darius idly wondered if any of the others - Ben especially, since he had seen them kiss in Reaver's quarters - would think them flirting, too, instead of talking on serious matters. "Your presence would be sorely missed, Reaver, since your expertise on the shadows amongst other things is great, but as I said, this journey to Oakfield takes priority."

The comment seemed to irritate Reaver less so than Darius had intended. He stepped back and bowed, returning up only to lean on his cane; his grin turned to a smirk, and Darius had to force himself mentally to neither slap nor kiss his smug expression away.

"Then I am pleased His Majesty relies upon my expertise, whatever his excuse may be," replied Reaver, winking. "I await tomorrow with sincere anticipation. Tatty-bye, for now."

"Yes, for now," Darius muttered stoically; and he watched Reaver turn and depart from the throne room, his cane clinking with his every step.

It was not until the doors slammed shut that Darius, noticing only now, relaxed his clenched hands. He breathed in, silently huffed, and turned to his companions to inform them that they would be travelling by Reaver's ship once more. He only hoped Ben's mockery would be kept to a minimum, considering Darius was now King, but he doubted it.

/***\

As Darius joined Ben and Logan in stepping out of the carriage and onto the docks, avoiding a barrage of wine barrels and crates, his lips parted in surprise. Barry Hatch, bruised and scarred, stood alive and well in a formal jacket and blue breeches, and not a few feet from the boarding walkway to Reaver's ship. Conversing with Reaver on the docks, Darius caught Hatch shooting him a cheerful wink.

Darius shook his head. He urged Ben and Logan to carry their belongings over to the ship, although each of them only had a small bag of clothing on them. Darius did not expect them to be gone for a long time, a few days at most hopefully.

However, in his arms, Darius carried his son. Although the trip would likely be arduous, he refused to leave his son behind to the will of his servants. The last time he had left Tristan behind, he had fallen under the Shadows' grasp and he couldn't allow that to happen again.

Reaver waved Hatch away with their approach.

"Young Hatch has recovered splendidly from his little hiccup, wouldn't you say? And in such a short span of time, too, how very obliging of him," remarked Reaver.

"Two months – he recovered in just two months?" asked Darius disbelievingly. "His innards were slashed, ripped apart by that woman posing as a balverine, and he recovered in just two months."

Reaver laughed. "Well…I wouldn't say he is back to his full character," he murmured, before moving closer to whisper lightly against Darius' ear; "If he does start pawing at your clothes or perhaps even seems to grow too hairy at the limbs, do let me know, Your Majesty."

Darius paused, and then scowled as he realised the meaning behind his words.

"_We're travelling with a balverine_," he hissed.

"There are things in Oakfield that may require more than any rudimentary gun," snipped Reaver, and stepped back to bow impressively low. Darius spotted, from the corner of his eyes, crewmen staring at them from the ship; and, both irked and amused him to no end by Reaver's continued pretense, he watched as the man raised himself to his original height once more. "Welcome aboard, My King."

As Reaver turned for the walkway, Darius followed and boarded the Narcissus for the second time in his life; and in his opinion, it was two times too much.

The crewmen gathered in their bumbling pack to listen. Darius wondered if Reaver performed these little speeches every time he came aboard, or if this was simply for their own benefit.

"Now, my beloved cretins, you may have noticed an extra crewmember, however small the being may be, onboard," he said, his eyes flickering over to the bundle in Darius' arms. "Now, His Majesty's son shall be travelling with us for the time being, and any man or woman who attempts to so much as tap the lad on the shoulder will…oh yes, be shot. Make no mistake, my lovely illiterate, pirating folk, even breathing near the dear boy will get you a prized bullet in the skull. But then, I'm quite sure that you all understand this cautionary warning, so now, chip chop. Back to work."

Reaver gestured for Darius and Ben to follow him from the deck onto the helm. Leaning lazily beside the wheel, they spotted Terrie and Hatch chatting.

She hadn't changed in the past few weeks. Her striped shirt bared a few tears, her shorts evidently had been originally fashioned for a male, and she still carried a confident air about her form. Nonetheless, leaning beside her, Barry Hatch continued to speak with absolutely awful pickup lines.

"Come now, how about we take a turn in the sack? A rumble in the hatch?" he snickered, wiggling his eyes sardonically.

She huffed. "Why, you repugnant, little –"

"Plot a course for Oakfield, Navigator Terrie," ordered Reaver, moving to lean over the wooden barrier nearby the couple. They turned, and by their stunned, nervous faces, they obviously hadn't heard them clambering up the stairs. "I intend to have us arrive by tomorrow night."

Terry nodded, and a smile quirked at the corner of her lips.

"Right you are, Captain Reaver."

Reaver grinned. "Oh, you're an absolute minx when you address me like that." He turned to Darius, and called with a nonchalant tone, "…And Hatch, you infested pit of dung, bring our dear companions' things up onto the ship, particularly that crib-contraction for His Majesty's son. Any idleness won't be tolerated on this voyage, you know."

"Ah, yes, Master Reaver. Right you are."

Reaver sighed. "It is Captain from whence I stepped aboard, you demented fool. _Captain_ Reaver," he seethed.

"Ah, yes. Sorry, Captain."

Darius scowled, and turned to lean over the barrier with his son. Despite the loudness of the docks and the workmen aboard ships, Tristan hadn't so much as stirred. Darius hoped that it was because of his Seal that he continued to remain so content for the rest of the journey.

However, his thoughts were immediately overturned as Reaver began to direct orders, even asking his companions to settle in to their new quarters below deck whilst he could discuss a matter with the King of Albion. Although Logan had severely objected to Darius and his nephew being left alone without a guard, he couldn't further object when Darius had argued that he was the King and could order his brother downstairs. It was petty, but it worked; with gritted teeth and a sack over his back, Logan had departed; and Ben, not before shooting Darius a cool wink, had followed Logan.

Darius couldn't help but think that Ben wouldn't be so leniant with Reaver's presence if he knew that Reaver had a hand, if only a small one, in Major Swift's execution. But still, Darius knew Reaver wouldn't attempt anything out in the open; and whatever the matter with his factories was, being that the issue hadn't been brought up in Court it likely wasn't anything of real importance. Thus, as Reaver settled to lean over the barrier's edge beside him, Darius snorted.

"Sending off my brother and my personal guard now just to talk to me," quipped Darius, with an idle grin. "How very low of you, Reaver."

Reaver sniffed in a rather haughtily manner.

"Hardly. I simply wanted to inquire after your well being now that your son wears the Seal and not yourself. Call it an experiment…or idle curiosity, if you will."

"I'm fine, tired and hung-over, but fine," he lied. Darius supposed that the definition of 'fine' didn't include having nightmares of the Crawler every night since; it was distressing to know that the darkness could catch him in his sleep, but he wouldn't provide Reaver with any weaknesses. Instead, he turned the tables back and asked, "Are you wearing yours?"

Reaver paused.

"Yes," he murmured softly, as he placed a hand over his collarbone to indicate his Seal's presence, "…I always do."

They watched as Hatch dropped the crib and released a mouthful of curses, before a crewman ventured down the plank to assist him in carrying it onto the ship. Darius chuckled lightly, though stopped when he noticed that Reaver was staring with a narrowed brow at the men.

"How _delightful_. I'll have to teach that inane tongue of his again at some point to remain silent when around guests, and it is not an amusing task," Reaver grumbled, and Darius neither knew whether he was serious or not. "There is too much belly and not enough wits in that urchin."

"Why keep him around, then?"

Reaver snickered. "Why do you keep that young Finn about? Why, for amusement of course. Hatch, despite his irritating ways, is never one for making things uninteresting at a party. Once, he even sent the Lady of Millstone dashing to the exit. Oh, she returned, they always do, but the dear sight –"

"Our kinds of amusement likely mean different things, Reaver."

"Perhaps," he conceded with shrug. He turned away from the sea to face Darius, "Tell me, after your produced your little offspring, who was the first male that caught your delightful blue eyes. You could not have engaged into such an affair whilst under your family's noses, particularly your brother Logan's, and I hardly think that you would dare to be so open whilst in the company of that boorish Sir Walter after leaving the castle."

Darius scowled and eyed Reaver's expression, looking for some form of mockery.

"Walter is the bravest men I know…and he isn't dull," he snarled half-heartedly, instantly knowing after he spoke, by Reaver's widening grin, that he had merely been joking. "Besides, the old coot deservers some respect. He taught me all he knew with a sword."

"But not with a gun or your Will," rebuked Reaver, "…and you did not answer my question, my King."

"All right, it was a man called Brian Wrung," said Darius. "Happened at Brightwall Inn, and it's just the usual cliché story. I was pissed drunk and irritated by my second wife's betrayal; he was handsome and flirty; and one thing led to another. I ended up in his bed at his house and left in the morning before he awoke. None of my companions ever found out, and I've never seen or heard from him since."

"And what of Captain Finn, that able young soldier you keep so close to your burly chest?" he asked. "Have you done the _dirty_ with him?"

"_No_ – he's a friend! A bloody annoying one, yes, but still a friend," insisted Darius, with a narrowing gaze. "Why, have you suddenly become jealous now, Reaver?"

"Never. Yet it is such a pity to think that the young Captain goes without," he murmured, winking and a corner of his lips quirking. "Well, I shan't keep you. Know that down below are your bed quarters, along with your son's once Hatch brings the crib, and that my offer still remains. If ever should you feel the need to loosen the breeches, as these sea-urchins say, do find me in my quarters, Your Majesty."

Reaver gracefully retracted his arms from the wooden railing to walk down the stairs and order his men about.

Darius stood and followed suit, trudging his way down the stairs with Tristan buried in his arms. As he observed Reaver grinning at a young crewman, he pondered on his own feelings – was it he who felt jealously? He had always disliked Reaver talking so intimately with Page, and when he had spoken of Hatch, Captain Finn, and

How could he feel jealously when he knew nothing about Reaver? Truly, all he knew was that the man had an atrocious sexual appetite, a passion for industry and guns, particularly pistols, and a large ego that could span across the whole of Albion. But then, he also

Darius crossed through the doorway, stepping down onto the second deck. He shook his head, willing himself to silence such thoughts. He knew that this quest should take priority in his mind, and so he couldn't let his feelings – whatever they were – for Reaver sway him away from it.

"Insufferable git," Darius muttered darkly.

/***\

As Darius walked below deck that evening, after helping some crewmen in polishing the cannons, he spotted Reaver holding Tristan by his son's crib; and in his son's chubby fingers, he held a toy gun. Scowling, Darius shoved past the surrounding and chuckling crewmen to march towards Reaver.

"It would seem that your young son delights in the sea breeze," commented Reaver, smiling idly. "And in this darling toy gun I purchased not a day ago."

The crew laughed at the Pirate King's antics. A child shouldn't be aboard any ship; there were a great number of things that they could get their hands on, but the crew seemed content with the wee one and his childish gun.

"You planned to give him that gun, Reaver," bristled Darius, looking between them. He couldn't help but think the picture right in some way; Tristan had similar eyes to Reaver, and Darius' brown hair to boot. "He's only ten months old – take it back. He's too young!"

"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport," quipped Reaver. "The boy is merely experiencing the little thrill of a gunshot. Why ever shouldn't he follow in his dear daddy's footsteps, after all?"

Fuming, and swallowing down a retort, for he neither knew whether Reaver had been complimenting or mocking his shooting skills anyway, Darius then decided to take the gun from his son's hands. Only, Tristan released a whimper.

Darius snatched the gun firmly, bringing it to his side. He watched his son break out into tears and begin to wail, with his little palms reaching out in vain for the gun. So, with a malignant grunt, Darius returned the gun to his son's fingers.

"Fine," he grated, with venomous eyes drawing from Tristan onto Reaver, "…he can keep the gun, but only if he's supervised by me at all times with it."

"As you wish," grinned Reaver, with a smug wink.

Perhaps in his own sadistic manner, with all his knowledge on guns and coupled with his long life, Reaver could be good with children. Perhaps he had even been a father at some point? The idea was not unreasonable and yet, as the very thought crossed his mind, Darius pressed two fingers onto the bridge of his nose and moved across to sit on a barrel.

Reaver moved to lean against a pole nearby Darius. By his intrigued gaze, he seemed almost amused by Tristan, as the boy fiddled with the device.

In an hour's time, Tristan had shot several members of the crew, even Reaver once in the chest, before attempting to suck on the barrel's end. Darius then took Tristan from Reaver's hands and held him to his chest, making sure to have the plastic toy gun concealed safely away in his pocket. Not some minutes later, the few members of the crew had all stalked off; under the King's watchful gaze, each of them had been edgy around his son, and Darius oddly missed their companionship when he was Gunslinger

"Well, isn't he is a little darling," remarked Reaver, huffing lightly as Tristan laughed.

Darius scoffed. "Indeed, he is, when he's asleep that is. He's just being nice now because you gave him a _gun_."

Despite the quipped smile at the corner of his lips at Darius' mockery, the expression quickly vanished to be replaced by a serious one.

Reaver sighed. "Darius, I must apologise for the other night," he murmured, stepping forward to whisper, "I was not in my right mind when I spoke so of a marriage between us. Such a pitiful word, you know – _marriage_. And I am quite sure that you regret our night - that it was perhaps...a mistake, even?"

Darius swallowed anxiously. "I wouldn't call that night a mistake," he replied, eyes narrowing in alarm and heart thumping wildly. "I personally don't regret it one bit."

"Even so, once our trip has ended and our little deal done with, I feel I must step away from the Court. I will still of course bring my business proposals to the Crown and remain a most ardent Disputer, but personal visits…well, I doubt the Court would be disappointed to see me less," he remarked, with an pleasant, small smile. "I wish you – and your darling little Prince – a good night," he whispered, and swept from the room with his boots making light, but no less quick, steps to make for the upper deck.

Darius' heart ached. His chest hurt so to the point that he wanted to call Reaver back, have him explain why he thought their night together had been a mistake. Would Reaver tell him, though – would he tell the truth? How did he even feel about Reaver?

Shaking his head, Darius moved over to his son's crib. The day had been long; he had assisted the crew in checking the cannons, impressing them with his knowledge, despite that he had learned much from when he was aboard before. He supposed idly that a mask and some make-up truly did make a difference in a disguise.

Placing his son in his crib with his brown teddy, Darius moved to settle into his hammock. Above him, Ben was snoring loudly and Darius grew evermore envious of his friend as the night progressed on. Yet it wasn't for two hours more, when his melancholy thoughts finally settled, that Darius fell asleep, and even then his dreams turned to infested nightmares of darkness and shadows.

/***\

"But why do I have to look after Tristan?" moaned Ben, once the sun had risen and they were moving onto the shore. Logan and Reaver were already off-ship, and only Ben seemed to have a problem with the plans; although Darius could hardly blame him, considering Ben had been charged by Walter as his personal guard for the journey. "Can't one of the crewmen, or your brother?"

"I don't trust Logan," he answered, his eyes flickering over to his brother's form on the shore, "and I need Reaver with me when we go into that cavern. Also, I don't trust his crew, not even Terrie over Tristan's health. I'm sorry, Ben – but there'll be plenty of fighting likely later, yeah?"

Darius also didn't want his son being around a balverine. No matter that Barry Hatch was coming with them, Darius still felt that having a balverine so close by wouldn't end well.

Ben snorted. "There better be."

Kissing his son goodbye and departing down the walkway with a hardened heart, Darius called for his companions to start making their way into town. If they noticed his solitary manner as they paced about searching for signs for the Temple, the three chose not to comment on it.

Darius had hardly spoken with Reaver since the man had confessed that their night together was but a mere mistake, and Logan and Barry were hardly brilliant conversationalists. Darius idly wished that he had brought Walter along, for at least then they could talk on military tactics and drinking.

Still, Darius was silently thankful that he brought Rylin along. He fancied that he trusted his dog more than any of the companions he was currently walking with.

After questioning the villagers, they hiked up to the temple. The temple lay partially in ruins. Many of the monks had apparently died from the rising number of deadly beetles and hobs in the area; and being pacifists, Darius was surprised that the few monks left had managed to survive at all.

They were greeted by a monk called Bassley, a man dressed in white and who spoke of the light as a living force. Truly, Darius wasn't the only one sceptical about the whole light thing; Logan snorted behind him when Bassley began to recite some poem or another, and Reaver had pulled out his gun.

"Do you know where we might find the cave where Albert once wandered into?" Darius finally interrupted, after becoming bored by the monk and mindful of his companions causing an incident. "This is a King's visit of a sort –"

"Oh, yes, of course. The cave is down the path where you just came up. It's situated in the woods, not far, and you can't –"

With mindless cries, a great number of hobbes came upon them from all directions.

"Sister Hannah – help!" cried the monk. "Sister Hannah!"

A great roar of fury came from down the hilly path. A woman dressed in rags, built well with muscles, and lightly tanned, came racing up, a heavy hammer wielded in her hands; and as Darius reloaded his gun, she crushed a hob's skull with her hammer without even grimacing.

Barry Hatch let off his rifle, shooting men in the limbs and missing at times. He wasn't exceptional, but he wasn't dead either. Darius oddly wished that Ben could have been with them; he was a much better shootsman with a rifle.

Still, Logan and Reaver seemed to be competing. Reaver's shots never missed their mark; and despite being out of practice for so long, Logan's movements were so sure yet powerful. They were calling out numbers to each other, and Darius silently grinned at he noted that his brother was but one kill behind, irritating Reaver immensely.

As the last living hobbes retreated over the edges of the cliff and down the paths, Darius caught one the back, out-firing Reaver by mere seconds with the Black Dragon. He sheathed the gun and turned to the monks and the woman standing by the temple's doorway.

The strong-headed woman swung her hammer onto her back, ignoring them in favour of turning to the monk.

"Is everyone all right, brother Bassley?" she questioned, as she kicked a hob's corpse over the edge of the hill. "No casualties this time?"

"No one was hurt, Sister, and thank you," he reassured, panting between his words. "Now, I feel I must rejoin the other monks in the Temple. I fear I am about to be sick…"

"Yes, you go rest," she murmured stoically. "I'll deal with these lot."

The monks left them for the temple, and Reaver chortled.

"Ah, the big-bodied woman returns from those warring monks in the north," he mocked, tapping his cane against the stone floor. "One would have thought that you'd never return to these prudish twits."

"Great, it's you again, Reaver," she remarked, her brow narrowing as she observed him. "And you've a cane now? What – getting old, are we finally? I thought you left for Samarkand for good?"

"Canes are the latest in fashion these days, but then, I hardly think you can talk of fashion in those rags, my dear," he replied icily. "My return to Albion was always at the front of my mind, although I do have such fond memories of the place. Garth was essentially a troublesome one, always following me about and insisting on my remaining friendly with the locals. You know, it was almost a pity that I had to kill him in the end."

"You killed Garth?" she snarled. "You absolute bastard, Reaver – you! –"

"Now, now, would I lie to you?"

The woman moved with echoing steps to punch Reaver in the face. Reaver wheeled back on unstable feet, and Rylin barked wildly as Darius placed himself quickly to shove between them.

"Let me pass, kid," she growled. "He killed Garth!"

"And I need him for the time being. You will step down!"

She stepped back, her hammer swinging to wield in her arms. "Who are you, kid? Why stick around with bad company – are you one of his lackeys or something?"

Darius scowled. "I am the King of Albion and you will treat me – and my companions – with respect," he snarled. "

"The King, aye? So you're old Sparrow's son?" she asked, her voice etched with scepticism. "All right, fine, so you're all grown up and King now. But why did you come back, Reaver?"

"You could say that I was called back."

Her lips bristled. "Yeah, by the shadows. But why stay?"

"Must one answer for all one's endeavours?" he rebuked, his eyes heatedly staring past Darius over to her. "I am a business man, my dear, and business men go wherever lovely entertainment can be made."

Her eyes flickered suspiciously between Darius and Reaver.

"Yeah," she said, "of course it's to do with business. Royal business, as always."

Darius scowled. He didn't trust her. She was clearly a Hero of Strength, having jumped without gaining a scratch and swung her hammer with such immense power, but not all Heroes were benevolent.

Not only that, but she seemed to know his own mother and Reaver and a cold sensation grew in Darius' chest. Although this woman had known Sparrow, the old Queen and his mother, Reaver's associations weren't to be trusted. Plus, she'd an ample bosom and strong muscles, and Reaver's tastes were unique. Darius didn't know what he found attractive, and he loathed that he felt even slightest bit jealous at the thought of her being one of Reaver's past flings.

"Who are you?" seethed Darius. "And why did you help us?"

"Help you? My king, I'm the protector of this place now that the darkness is coming. The name's Hannah," she greeted, with a quipped smile, "but you can call me Hammer."


End file.
